In the Cupboard
by HarryDude85
Summary: When Harry decides to open his first Hogwarts letter away from the prying eyes of the Dursley's, the difference this one simple act has on the future is asthonishing.
1. In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By: HarryDude85

When Harry trusted his instincts and opened his first Hogwarts letter away from prying eyes, the difference this one simple act has on the future is astounding.

I don't own any of these characters.

* * *

"_Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper._

"_Make Harry get it."_

"_Get the mail, Harry."_

"_Make Dudley get it."_

"_Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."_

_Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and – _a letter for Harry.

_Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives – he didn't belong to the library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:_

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

_The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. _

_Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, and eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H._

"_Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke._

Harry made his way back to the kitchen, still mindlessly staring at his letter (His letter! Probably the only thing aside from his glasses that were ever made or given for him alone), when a horrible thought entered his mind. He has lived with the Dursleys for ten years, and this was the first letter to ever, _ever,_ come for him. Were the Dursley's stupid enough to not notice that? The bitter part of his mind said yes, but the realistic part told himself no.

He could just picture what would happen joining his family with a letter for himself. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia might not notice, so practiced in their flawless routine of ignoring every thing Harry did, unless it benefited them, but he could just picture Dudley shouting "Dad! Dad! Harry's got a letter!" The letter would be ripped from his grasp before Harry could even blink, Uncle Vernon would sneer something foul like "Who'd be writing to you?" Which would be a fair point, but no matter what the letter said, unless it involved some one coming to take me away forever, an event that both parties involved would immensely enjoy, Harry would never know for himself. And Harry wasn't going to let that happen.

Realizing that he had been standing in the hallway far too long, Harry quickly opened his cupboard door and, taking a last good look at the envelope, placed it on his cot, closed the door and re-entered the kitchen with the rest of the mail.

"What took you so bloody long, boy?" barked Uncle Vernon. Harry plopped the bill and postcard in front of his uncle, and went to sit down opposite him, trying to keep his face blank of anxiousness and curiosity about the letter now lying on his cot.

He ate his pitiful breakfast of one piece of bacon, toast, and a burnt pancake, barely hearing Uncle Vernon explain about his sister falling ill from a funny whelk. He kept picturing what could be in the letter. Perhaps it was a doctor telling him his parent's weren't dead, but very ill for the past ten years, but now their better and he can live with them now. Well, that could be possible, but why would Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tell them they were dead? They would at last be rid of the boy they were holding onto, and he would be rid of them. Or maybe it was one of those random million dollar contests and he was the winner. How that was possible, seeing he never entered himself in any contest, Harry didn't know, but thinking up these absurd ideas was better use of his time than talking with his family.

He had just finished eating and was about to excuse himself from the table to go to his cupboard, when he felt a hard slap on the back of his head.

"Ow!" he cried out.

"You will listen to me when I talk to you," the sharp, high pitched voice of his aunt harped down on him.

"Sorry," Harry said, rubbing his head. He looked up and saw his aunt's tall face angrier than he had in a while. She must have been trying to say something to him, but he was to busy daydreaming to hear her.

"No your not," snarled Aunt Petunia, "But you will be if you don't get to work."

"Work?" Harry asked confused. He would have added 'What work' but didn't think his aunt would have taken it to well.

"Yes, work, you ungrateful little brat. You are to wash our cars, mow the lawn, and vacuum the house top to bottom. And if you mess up any of that, you will have no meals for a week."

Normally, Harry would have said nothing but "Okay" and do what he was told, but today, Harry wanted nothing more than to get to his cupboard and read his letter. He was about to protest when he caught the sight of Uncle Vernon. His face was going red and the vain in his neck began to throb. It was as if he knew that Harry was about to talk back, however mildly it would have been, and if there was one thing Uncle Vernon hated more than his nephew's imagination, it was his nephew standing up for himself.

Sighing in defeat, Harry set out front to begin five hours of back breaking labor, the kind he has been used to since he was seven. The one good thing that Harry has taken from the years of physical labor would that he did this kind of work so often and it usually involved stretching muscles that otherwise never would have been used. As such, he was in rather good shape, and had a rather firm physique. He knew he was stronger than Dudley, and could easily beat him in any of the fights that Dudley seeks out every day at school, but knows that if he fought back that their would be hell to pay when he got home. So he kept his well muscled body to himself. But even if it meant he would be a scrawny little weakling, he would have preferred never having to do any of this labor that was only put on him because the rest of his family was too lazy and selfish to do anything that didn't involve pleasing Dudley and tormenting Harry.

The only other consolation today, how ever miniscule, in doing the work was the knowledge that his letter would still be waiting for him when he finished. The Dursley's avoided his cupboard at all times, except for when Aunt Petunia woke him up every morning and when Dudley would lock him in after beating him up. All of the item's one usually kept in cupboards, brooms and buckets and such, were moved to the upstairs closet after Harry began sleeping there when he was three, so their would be no need to go in their if their was a spill.

Unfortunately for Harry, it happened to be a scorching day outside, with the thermometer reading 102. The only time Harry stopped for water was after he finished washing the family's two cars and Aunt Petunia made sure it was a short one, for he was in and back out the door in less than a minute.

Harry entertained himself through out the day thinking up different things that could be inside his letter. Every time he would come up with a new idea, they would be even more crazy and impossible. His last idea when he finished vacuuming the house was that the letter was from some unknown planet beyond Pluto where he was actually from, and they were sending him a letter announcing their arrival, which would commence with chasing Dudley around with a giant board with a nail in it. (He saw that on a Simpson's episode on the rare occasion that he was left in the house when the Dursley's went out, and the idea greatly appealed to him) Even without the Dudley chasing, every scenario sounded perfect to him because every one of them involved the same theme, what Harry longed for more than anything: to leave the Dursley's forever and join the people he was meant to be with, be it his parent's, some long lost twin brother, or some giant who would take him to live in a world of wizards and/or pirates.

Finally, after he took a shower and ate his usual petite supper, Harry found himself in front of his cupboard.

A part of him was afraid to open the door, afraid that the letter would be gone, and he didn't know which would be worse: the idea that Dudley had stolen it, given it to his parents and now Harry would never see it; or the thought that the letter never existed and it was all just one big dream.

Pushing all those thoughts down, Harry reached his hand out, opened the door, looked inside and –

Harry released a giant sigh of relief that he didn't know he was holding. It was still their, lying on his cot, the light of the hallway ending at the length of the letter, leaving everything else in the dark, as if trying to tell Harry what he already knew, that this letter was the most important thing in the world to him and that he needed to know what was inside it. Even if it turned out to be nothing more than a letter from his new school, Stonewall High, welcoming him, it mean that some one wanted to talk to him, and that was more than he could ever ask for.

Climbing inside the cupboard, Harry closed the door and turned on the dangling light overhead.

He picked up his letter. It was still as thick and heavy as it was this morning, and than thought made him elated, for it means that this is all real. He through out the possibility that the letter was from Stonewall, for no school would have known that Harry lived in the cupboard under the stairs the way the envelope said.

He turned the envelope over to once again see the wax stamp in the form of a coat of arms. For the first time that day, Harry wondered what the 'H' stood for and what the snake, lion, eagle, and badger had to do with it. In all his excitement of the letter that went through his mind today, not once did he think of the coat of arms at all.

Harry didn't linger on that thought for to long, the eagerness to solve this mystery once and for all was to strong. Breaking the wax, Harry opened the envelope. He pulled out the letter.

Two things came to Harry's attention at once: One, that the letter was written on the same parchment as the envelope; two, that there were three sheets. Finally, at long last, he opened his letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.  
Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall,  
_Deputy Headmistress_

There was silence.

Even the sounds of Dudley watching T.V. seemed to have vaporized and gone to some place where they wouldn't disturb Harry as he tried to process what he had just read.

'This is some kind of joke,' Harry told himself. 'Some sick joke by the Dursley's to get my hopes up so they can point and laugh at me.' Yet even as he told himself this, he knew that the only kind of joke the Dursley's liked involved Dudley shouting BOO at the top of the staircase before punching Harry in the face. And the kind of imagination that it would take to come up with obviously fake words such as 'Hogwarts', 'McGonagall', 'Dumbledore', and 'Mugwump' was far beyond the capacity of his aunt, uncle, and cousin. And nobody outside his family would go to this much effort to just make him look stupid for about five seconds.

But if it wasn't a joke, if nobody was trying to be mean or cruel than did that mean… Could it possibly…

"No." He firmly told himself. "It's not real." He didn't want to tell himself this, for the letter was actually everything he had hoped for. While it didn't give him his parents, it did give him a life with out the Dursley's, a life with people of his own kind who would accept him, where he would make the impossible happen and where he could be happy and not sleep under the stairs and eat what he wanted and have friends, honest to god friends, who would like nothing more than to be with him and make things fly, make things change sizes and color and make things vanish into thin air and that's why it couldn't be real because it is everything Harry wanted and –

'Wait.' Harry stopped that train of thought when he came to the realization of what he just thought. 'Did I just – Was the sweater that shrunk, and the wig that turned blue and even the snake that got lose… Could it have been possible that… I did all that?'

When Aunt Petunia tried to force that revolting sweater on him, Harry wanted nothing more than to destroy it so he could never, ever have to wear it and it ended up shrinking to the size of a hand-puppet. When Mr. Rippling, his writing teacher, berated him for writing a paper that called Dudley the fattest, bullying git in school, about how lies were not fitting someone so young, Harry was so angry, he didn't know how Mr. Rippling's wig was all of a sudden blue. Could it have been him? And right after Dudley hit Harry at the zoo, the glass separating him fro the boa constrictor disappeared. Did Harry make it happen? And heck, before he was hit, Harry was talking to the snake, actually talking to it! How many normal people could say that!

An even better question struck Harry, a question that sent shivers up and down his spine: How many _wizards_ could say that?

There was no more convincing needed. Harry had accepted it. "I am a wizard." Saying those words aloud, words that Harry never imagined, yet deep down inside him, always knew were true, changed him. He didn't know how it changed him or what was different, but hew knew that he was not the same person he was before he had broken the wax and read the truth.

He looked down at the letter that told him what, no, who he was, Harry flipped the page to read the second one under it:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM  
First-year students will require:  
Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
One winter cloak (black, silver fastings)  
Please note that all the pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS  
All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
_The Standard Book of Spells(Grade 1)_ by Miranda Goshawk  
_A History of Magic_ by Bathilda Bagshot  
_Magical Theory_ by Adalbert Waffling  
_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch  
_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ by Phyllida Spore  
_Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger  
_Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander  
_The Dark Force: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT  
1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOKSTICKS.

"This is amazing," Harry muttered, a smile, the biggest Harry could ever remember wearing, that was growing bigger as he re-read the list, plastered on his face. "I get to have spell books and cauldrons and I get to wear a cloak and wave a wand and…" But then his heart plummeted from the broomstick that he was not allowed to have, yet longed to hold. 'How will I get this stuff?'

It sounds as if he has to buy all this himself. He has no idea where to get any of this. It's not like he can go to the mall and ask where they sell magic wands. And there was the fact that if he did find places to buy wands and spell books, he has absolutely no money _to_ buy anything. And who knows if witches accepted pounds. They might have a whole other kind of currency.

Feeling like a kid was just told that there is no such thing as Santa Clause, it was with great effort that Harry was able to pull himself back and look at the third and final sheet of parchment that came with his letter. It was the longest parchment with more written on it than the others. It read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are aware that you have been brought up by muggles, which is the word our kind uses for people who have no magical ability, such as your uncle, aunt, and cousin. As such, you may not have the knowledge or finances to get the equipment necessary for you to start at Hogwarts.

First off, in case you are unaware, you should know that your parents, Lily and James Potter, were also a witch and wizard who once went to Hogwarts. And at the time of their death, their entire vault at Gringotts, the wizard bank where all of our money is kept, became yours. It holds a quite impressive amount of wizarding money. You shall be given a more detailed explanation of how our money works when you arrive at Gringotts. And I think you should be warned before you arrive their to retrieve your rightful currency, the bank is run by goblins, and as such, you should be careful not to lie or try and deceive them. Although I have every belief that you would try no such thing, I think it is fair warning.

Next, when you arrive at Gringotts, ask the goblin standing next to the door to take you to the goblin christened Bargox. Tell him your name, and he shall give you the key to your parents, now yours, vault. He will assign you to join another goblin who will take you to your vault.

But of course the only way you will be able to access Gringotts and your vault is for you to know how to get to them. And where are they located, I am sure you're asking? Why, they are on a lovely and convenient little street known as Diagon Alley, which is where you will need to purchase your Hogwarts robes and accessories. The directions to Diagon Alley from #4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging are located at the bottom of this letter.

The entrance to Diagon Alley from the muggle side of London is through a charming pub called The Leaky Cauldron. Only witch, wizards, and squibs, those born from magical parents who unfortunately have no abilities of their own, are able to see the sign and door to the Leaky Cauldron. All muggles see is a blank wall, so trust your eyes, not your fellow people, for this one moment. When you enter The Leaky Cauldron, ask the bartender, Tom, to show you how to enter Diagon Alley. The rest should be simple.

A few more things before I leave you to contemplate in your cupboard what this all means. First, I am sure you are self conscious about your scar, about how people look at it and are rude to you cause of it. If you do not wish to enter an unknown world with this understandable insecurity, I may be able to assist you. When you finish reading, if you wish to hide you scar, simply say the words "Harry's Helper" and a small square shall appear in front of you. This square, when placed on you scar, will completely conceal it from view, even from yourself. It will blend in perfectly, as if it were your own skin, and the only person who can remove it is yourself. It can be used more than once, and is indestructible once in place on your skin. I hope this helps you.

Secondly, when September 1 arrives, you will have to be at Kings Cross Station, on Platform 9 and ¾. In order to access the platform you will have to walk through the barrier separating platforms 9 and 10. I am aware that it looks like an impassable metal barrier and to muggles it is, but to you, you will be able to pass through safe and sound. But you must board the train before it leaves at 11 A.M.

Thirdly, at the bottom of your admittance letter, Professor McGonagall truthfully stated that we await you owl. As you have no such animal at the present time, a simpler method has been arranged for you. Simply write your response on the back of the aforementioned admittance letter, place it on top of your doormat, and we shall receive it during the night.

And, lastly, Harry, I knew and taught your mother and father. After they graduated Hogwarts, we worked with them quiet closely. I had great respect for the two of them and, in fact, I named them Head Boy and Head Girl in their 7th year, the highest a student can get a Hogwarts. Their loss has been felt by all of those who loved them, and I can assure you, that list is a long one. I am sure that they are proud of you and that they, along with myself, cannot wait to see the amazing wizard and, more importantly, the extraordinary man you will become. If ever you feel you need to talk to someone at Hogwarts, yet are unsure who to confide in, or if you ever need assistance, my door is always open to you. Just look for the stone gargoyle on the second floor. The password in 'Sugar Quill'.

Hope your time at Hogwarts is splendid,  
Yours sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore,  
_Headmaster_

If Harry thought nothing could surprise him after reading the first letter, he had just been proven wrong: an entire vault full of money that was for him and him alone; a bank run by goblins; a street full of wizard shops; an invisible pub; a magic barrier that led to a magic train; disappearing parchment. But most extraordinary of all, his parents were magic as well!

In the ten years he has lived with the Dursley's, the only thing he knew about his parents was that they were killed in a car crash. And now, in one message, he knows more than he has his whole life: they were magic and went to Hogwarts; they were Head Boy and Girl and had a lot of friends; they graduated and worked with Professor Dumbledore.

And that was another thing that surprised him. Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster who has many, many other students wrote to him, gave him advice and told him about his parents, told him to stop by whenever he needed help. Harry never even heard of the man a few minutes ago, but already he feels closer to the headmaster than he ever had to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.

'Speaking of whom,' Harry thought, 'I think it's time the three of us have a little talk.' Being sure to hide the envelope, school list, and Dumbledore's letter under a lose floor board, reminding himself that he needs to write a response of "Yes" on the back of the letter, Harry pocketed the school letter, opened the door and left his cupboard almost a completely different person then when he entered.

* * *

The entire first italicized section is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition Pg. 33-34

The first part of the Hogwarts letter is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition Pg. 51

The second part of the Hogwarts letter is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition Pg. 66-67


	2. Telling the Dursley

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By: HarryDude85

When Harry trusted his instincts and opened his first Hogwarts letter away from prying eyes, the difference this one simple act has on the future is astounding.

I don't own any of these characters.

* * *

Walking into the family room, Harry found his family the same way he finds them almost every night: Dudley planted on his large stomach watching some show that involved many explosions and punches to the face with the volume turned up to some insane degree and shoving handfuls, or what Harry says, shovelfuls of popcorn and cheetos in his mouth, loudly announcing when he was finished with a tremendous belch, before Aunt Petunia supplies him with more; Uncle Vernon reading the newspaper with the distinct look on his face that said he was attempting to do the impossible by blocking out the TV, knowing that politely asking Dudley to turn it down a teeny bit would result in World War III and IV all in one; and Aunt Petunia reading some celebrity magazine that she scoffed at whenever a neighbor mentioned it, claiming that only lonely nobody's paid any attention to what those rags had to say, despite having a subscription to said magazine for two years, her pale, beady eyes absorbing every thing the page had to offer, occasionally giving a loud "Tut-tut" of disapproval whenever the magazine showed a beautiful celebrity in a bikini, yet her eyes showing that she wanted nothing more than to look like said celebrity.

And, as usual, nobody made any indication of Harry entering the room. 'Well,' Harry gleefully thought, 'I'm sure I know a way to get their attention'.

Clearing his throat, Harry said, "Uncle Vernon."

Uncle Vernon grunted, not looking up. Harry had grown to learn that that meant 'yes' in Dursley speak.

"You remember this morning when you made me get the mail?"

Another grunt. Still looking at the paper.

"Well," Harry said carefully, for he knew what would happen next, "I didn't give you all of it. I kept one for myself"

The effect was instantaneous. His attention firmly gotten, Uncle Vernon dropped his paper when he leapt to his feet. Aunt Petunia put the magazine down to get up as well, and although she didn't look as furious as Uncle Vernon did, it was a close thing. And Dudley finally turned off the TV to turn and watch, still shoveling food down his throat, ready to watch his favorite kind of entertainment.

"HOW DARE YOU STEAL FROM US!" Uncle Vernon roared, his face an instant red, fists clenched so hard at his side, Harry was truly surprised to not see blood dripping down. "HOW DARE YOU TAKE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO YOUR AUNT AND I! WE GIVE YOU DUDLEY'S CLOTHES, WE GIVE YOU FOOD, WE GIVE YOU SHELTER, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US! BY STEALING MAIL FROM US!?" His breathing was ragged, his bushy mustache blowing around from the great gusts of air he was sucking in and blowing out.

"It wasn't for you or for her," shot back Harry.

"So your stealing from Dudley, is that it?" Aunt Petunia screeched, that thought of anyone befouling Dudley putting her up in arms.

"That's it isn't it," Uncle Vernon growled, his voice softer but still as dangerous. "It's not enough that you have to have his clothes to wear and to have his fine example to live by, but you have to have more of what is rightfully Dudley's." Uncle Vernon sounded very proud for having reasoned out the obvious right answer, that Harry almost felt bad for having to burst his bubble. Almost.

"It wasn't for Dudley, or you, or her," Harry said exasperated.

"Don't say _her_ like that, you ungrateful brat. To you, she's Aunt Petunia and – "

"Wait," Aunt Petunia cut off, putting the pieces of what Harry just said together. A look of dawning realization followed quickly by fascinated horror took over her face. She asked her next question with great trepidation. "If it wasn't for any of us," she said slowly, " was it for you?"

All eyes were on Harry. He nodded.

It looked as if Aunt Petunia's worst nightmare had come true, the way her eyes gleamed, and it made her sit down on the couch in the way that in a war, may have signaled defeat, but Uncle Vernon paid no attention to her. All he cared about was the boy he was forced by marriage to call nephew and getting answers.

"You? Who would be writing to you?" Uncle Vernon sneered. Harry rolled his eyes thinking that was exactly how he imagined his uncle's reaction this morning and how horrible that made him feel when he realized how well he knew his uncle.

"I have the letter here if you want to read it," Harry offered, pulling it out from his pocket. It was snatched from his hand instantly, and with a glare of pure hatred, Uncle Vernon lowered his gaze to read.

It always amazed Harry, considering how slow the Dursleys were at everything else, how fast their emotions were. Earlier, Uncle Vernon went from calm and quiet to furious and earsplitting loud faster than a heartbeat. Now, he went from furious to downright terrified. His face went from red to green faster than a stoplight, than quickly to deathly pale.

"P-Pe-Petunia," Uncle Vernon squeaked, which is something Harry didn't think he could do. He handed the letter to his wife, making sure to avoid his son, who had finally gotten up to see what this was all about.

It looked as if Petunia's fears were confirmed. She barely even glanced at it before she dropped it in her lap.

"So you know." It wasn't a question.

"Know about me and my parents and what they were and what I am? Yeah, I know," Harry said.

"Know what?" Dudley asked.

"Well, fat lot of good it does, you knowing," Uncle Vernon snapped. "I will not pay for you to go off and learn to become a freak."

"Go off where?" Dudley asked again, starting to get annoyed that no one was paying attention to him, something he wasn't used to.

"You don't have to pay," Harry responded. "My parents left me money when they died so I can pay for myself. And I will be going."

"Pay for what," Dudley asked in a raised voice, but still no body answered him.

"Oh you will, will you?" Uncle Vernon laughed. "Say's who?"

"Say's Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall. They sent the letter and they say that's where I belong!" Harry shot back.

"Where you belong, boy, is an asylum!" Uncle Vernon shouted. "But seeing as how I don't want the questions as why you would be going, you will have to suffer with Stonewall. It may not have any flying donkeys or other nonsense, but it will have what a no good, rule breaking boy like you needs: firm discipline and an environment for hard, respectable work."

"NO! I am going to Hogwarts!" Harry said it with such finality and courage that it set Aunt Petunia back. Never had this boy, this scrawny little carbon copy of his bastard father, ever raised his voice, or talked back to them since we taught him not to. But now, there he is, looking her husband dead in the eyes telling him what will be happening. Nobody ever does that with out regretting it. Even she rarely does it, knowing the temper Vernon has. So what has happened here to change her nephew so much?

But then she saw it. As the yelling and arguing continued, Petunia saw Harry's eyes break contact from Vernon's and connect with hers and … there.

Those eye. The two emerald orbs that had always looked like Lily's, so much that Petunia has gotten in the habit of never looking Harry in the eye, for fear of seeing her sister again, those eyes were now looking straight at here. It was only for a split second before Harry went back to arguing with her husband, but it was enough to imprint their look into her mind; she couldn't not think of them and how identical they were to her baby sister's.

But even though they looked like Lily's eyes, there had always been a sadness and hint of fear in Harry's, which Lily's never held. That was partially why she tried to avoid contact with them. She never wanted to see fear in Lily's eyes, which were always full of love and life and hope. Even when Petunia would call her a freak and rave at her and say horrible things to her, Lily would always have a look in her eyes that told Petunia that she wasn't fooled by the tough act and that she knew exactly why her older sister would say what she said, and that Petunia didn't mean it, and that hopefully one day, when they were much older with husbands and children, they would be able to reconcile. Never once did Petunia see Lily's eyes full of fear and sadness she never wanted to.

She always imagined when she read the letter left with Harry, telling her how Lily died, standing in front of her child, accepting death rather than let some horror destroy her son, that when the monster who took her away said whatever spell he said, that Lily's eyes weren't full of fear and hopelessness. They would have been full of love for Harry and conviction that dying for her child was the right thing to do and hatred for the man who was causing this, but never fear.

And now, when she looked into her nephews eyes that had always looked like Lily's, she saw that now they are Lily's. There was none of the fear and sadness that had been there for years. Now they were full of love for his parents that he never new and the life he was destined for, the conviction that going to this school was the right thing for him, and hatred for her and Vernon as they kept him from being who he was supposed to be. Lily Evans could never be stopped once she set herself to do something, and, it looks like, neither can her son.

"Okay." She said.

"What?"

"WHAT!?"

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

Aunt Petunia looked at Dudley and said, the gentleness in her voice that she always used with her son, "Dudy dearest, Harry is a wizard."

"A what?" Dudley asked dumbstruck.

Dudley could never grasp anything the first time he was told something. Although this is defiantly a bigger concept to grasp than the fact that Pluto was the name of a planet before it was the name of a cartoon dog, Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Harry is a wizard, just like his mother and father and he will be leaving us to go to a freak school to learn how to not blow people up," Aunt Petunia explained the sharpness back in her voice as she glared at her nephew, careful not to look him in the eyes. "I will explain it all to you later."

Harry noticed her avoiding his eyes, but was too used to it and had more pressing questions to care.

" 'Will be leaving?' Are you saying I can go," Harry asked, unable to keep the eagerness out of his voice.

"Yes. You can go."

"But Petunia, I thought we agreed that – "

"Vernon, think about it," Aunt Petunia said calmly. She had these excuses ready for years, knowing that this day would come and that no matter what they said or how they tried, Harry would go off just like Lily did. "If we send him off, we won't have to deal with him until July. That's ten whole months with him out of our hair. He will stay there for Christmas and Easter holidays, and when he graduates, we will never have to hear from him again."

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's mustache twitching, which meant that Aunt Petunia's reasoning was getting through to him. It was also having an effect on Harry. He never thought of what Aunt Petunia was saying and she was right. He only has to see the Dursley's 2 months a year, and once he graduates, he never has to see them again.

"If he went to Stonewall, he would come home every day, so he would always be here. But if we send him away to this freak school, in seven years, we only have put up with him for 14 months." Aunt Petunia finished and waited with Harry for Uncle Vernon's response. But all three of them knew that this was too good of an offer for him too pass off.

And sure enough, "Alright, alright. He can go."

Harry managed to restrain himself from shouting out in triumph, but it was a close thing. He felt as if his insides were doing the conga. He got himself under control in time to see Uncle Vernon turn to him, a finger pointing at him.

"You will go under these conditions. One, you never mention any of this to any of our neighbors." Harry nodded. He didn't care what anybody in this neighborhood thought. "Two, you WILL stay there for Christmas and Easter. Got that." He nodded again. Why would he voluntarily return when he could stay in a magic school? "Three, when you come home for the summer, their will be no magic here, no mention of it or anything having to do with your abnormality under this roof, or you will pay. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said. "I will do all that."

"Good. I will not have to deal with this nonsense any more than I have too." With that he sat back down in his chair. Picked up his paper, and tried to pretend he was reading.

With this cue, Dudley sat in front of the TV again and Aunt Petunia picked up her magazine and was just as successful at fake reading as her husband.

Harry knew he should leave, having gotten what he wanted and not wanting to push his luck. But he needed to ask what was on his mind.

"Uncle Vernon," Harry asked, the fierceness and determination gone from his voice, now back to his usual hopeful, pleading tone he usually used for asking favors.

Uncle Vernon grunted, although it was a much rougher grunt than before.

"I need to be able to buy my school things and in order to do that I need transportation. And," he added before Uncle Vernon could respond, "On September 1st, I need a ride to the Kings Cross station. Those are the only things I need your help with regarding my school. Other than that, I will not say another word about this for the rest of the summer."

Once again, Uncle Vernon's mustache twitched, telling Harry that he was seriously thinking about this.

"Alright." Uncle Vernon relented. "Tomorrow when I go into work, I will drop you off to buy your junk. This place is in London, correct?"

"Yes sir," Harry quickly said.

"Than I will drop you off. I will pick you up when I get off. This will give you 8 hours to do whatever it is you are going to do. I have to wait more than 10 minutes for you, I will leave and you will have to walk home. Got it." He gave Harry a glare that was practically begging Harry to argue.

But Harry was fine with this and told his Uncle so. When he asked about September 1st, Uncle Vernon just grunted.

Quickly saying thank you, Harry grabbed the Hogwarts letter, rushed out into the hallway and proceeded to have a quiet, yet energized, fit of happiness, which involved a lot of air punching and saying thank you to the ceiling.

Having all that out of his system, Harry hurried to the kitchen, grabbed a pencil, and quickly returned to his cupboard.

Retrieving the rest of his letter, he sat down on his cot, flipped the admittance letter over and wrote:

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I, Harry Potter, am looking forward and am quiet eager to come to Hogwarts. I hope I will meet your expectations.

Can't wait to start,

Harry James Potter

He quickly left his cupboard, opened the front door, placed the letter on the doormat, got a rock to keep it from blowing away, went back inside and into his cupboard.

Lying down to sleep, he took off his glasses, and thought before he fell into a deep slumber, 'This is the best day of my life.'

And they could only get better.

And they will.

Till next time. Later.


	3. The Vanishing Scar

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By: HarryDude85

When Harry trusted his instincts and opened his first Hogwarts letter away from prying eyes, the difference this one simple act has on the future is astounding.

I don't own any of these characters.

* * *

The next day Harry found himself sitting next to his uncle in his car on his way to Diagon Alley. He had ripped the directions off from the bottom of Dumbledore's letter, and now Uncle Vernon was following them, mumbling about wizards and their damn loopy, slanted handwriting.

When Harry woke up to the usual rapping against his cupboard door that morning, he had thought he had dreamt the entire last day, and now Aunt Petunia was there to tell him to make breakfast. He felt thoroughly depressed, because that was the best dream he ever had.

That depression didn't last long, for it was immediately shattered by Uncle Vernon telling him to "move you worthless legs and get out of bed! I'm on a tight schedule."

Uncle Vernon never woke him up. And although he is always on a tight schedule, that had nothing to do with Harry, unless…

It was real. And Uncle Vernon's going to take him to Diagon Alley.

Harry leapt from his bed, burst from his cupboard, and quickly ran to the front door. Opening it, he looked at the doormat. The letter was gone, which could have meant nothing, except that the rock that Harry used to hold it down was lying next to the doormat.

They had come and taken his letter! He was going to Hogwarts! He was going to learn magic like his mom and dad!

"Boy, close that damn door and go get cleaned up," Uncle Vernon ordered. "I won't drive around with a slob."

'Why not, you raise one,' Harry thought, but didn't dare say it in case Uncle Vernon changed his mind.

He quickly got a shower, got dressed, and ate breakfast.

When he and Uncle Vernon were ready to leave, Harry got Professor Dumbledore's letter from his cabinet. Not only did it have directions to Diagon Alley, but it had other important information that he was afraid he would forget.

"Hurry up, boy," uncle Vernon snapped as he kissed Aunt Petunia good-bye and gave Dudley a cuff on the pudgy shoulder.

Harry rushed to the door, gave a hurried good-bye to his aunt, who returned it with a turned shoulder. He then got in Uncle Vernon's car with his Uncle.

"Do you have directions to this place?" asked Uncle Vernon.

Harry ripped the directions from the bottom of the letter and handed them to his uncle. As they pulled out of the driveway, Harry re-read the letter.

It was as comforting and informative as it was last night, but when he got to the part about hiding his scar he faltered.

He looked into his visor's mirror and pushed his bangs back. His scar. The scar he's has for as long as he could remember. He apparently got it in the car crash that killed his parents, and while he had no other explanation, he began to wonder about that. How could two supposedly well talented wizards be killed in a simple car crash? Couldn't they have stopped the car or vanish themselves out. And what did that green light he occasionally saw in dreams have to do with it?

He would have asked Uncle Vernon about it, but Harry didn't think asking him anything more about his new life would have been the best option, not when he was already cursing about damn wizards and their inconsideration.

But Dumbledore had told Harry that he could conjure something up that would hide his scar. And while he didn't hate his scar, he actually kind of liked it and the way it made him unique, Dumbledore was right about the fact that people were very cruel to him about it. He could only imagine how wizards and witches would gawk and point at the strange kid with broken glasses, clothes far too big, no parents and a weird looking scar on his head. 'Well,' Harry thought, 'I'll just make myself the strange kid with broken glasses, clothes far too big, and no parents.'

Harry looked back down at the letter and read the words that Professor Dumbledore told him to say.

Taking in a deep breath to prepare himself for his first ever piece of magic, however indirectly he may cause it, he whispered, "Harry's helper".

Nothing happened.

Nothing appeared. Nothing made a popping sound and fell in his lap. Nothing. No magic.

Harry sighed. 'What did I do wrong?'

Harry looked back at the parchment, hoping that maybe there was more to it and he was just stupid enough not to have found it. But there was nothing. All it said was to do what Harry just did and nothing else.

Harry looked out his window, watching the cars, trees, and buildings zipping by and wondered 'How can I make it at Hogwarts when I can't do the simplest thing right.' He turned his head to look back in the visor mirror and shouted "Oh!"

"What!" Uncle Vernon looked around trying to see what it was that Harry had seen. When he saw nothing he turned to his nephew, who was still looking at himself in the mirror and rubbing his forehead, and growled, "What the devil is your problem? It was lucky I had just come to a stoplight, or their might have been an accident.

If you ever do some… some…" he trailed off when Harry turned to face him, holding his bangs up.

His scar was gone.

Where there should have been a black cut in the shape of a jagged lightning bolt, there was nothing but white skin.

"What… but how?" Uncle Vernon asked. He was brought to his senses when the car behind him sounded its horn. Uncle Vernon saw that the light was green and started driving again.

"It's magic." Harry simply stated. He felt the divide between the material and his skin, dug his skin under it, and peeled it off. There was no tug, no resistance, and no hair coming off like a band-aid. It just came off.

Harry looked at it. It was as thin as paper, something very easily losable, but when he bent it, it didn't break. When he tried to slightly rip it, it didn't tear. It was perfect.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Uncle Vernon watching him with one eye and keeping an eye on the road with the other. He could tell he was amazed at the little item as Harry was, but didn't want to admit it.

Harry carefully brought it up to his forehead. Very carefully, he put it over his scar, and pressed down on it. When he removed his hand, his reflection showed a normal fore head, no scar, no indication that there is something there that shouldn't be.

And Harry felt normal. There was now nothing that made him stand out from a regular crowd of 10 year old boys.

The remainder of the ride was a much more relaxed one than the first part. Now that Harry didn't have to worry about people making a big deal about his scar, Harry could think about the kinds of things he would find in Diagon Alley.

What kind of stores did they have? If his school list was anything to go by, they had stores for wands, clothes, spell books, potions, owls, broomsticks (although he wasn't allowed one, he wanted to look), and cauldrons. But there had to be more than that, and Harry couldn't wait.

Fortunately for Harry, the ride only lasted another 15 minutes. Before he knew it, the car had stopped, Harry had gotten out and Uncle Vernon was glowering at him through the window. "Remember boy, 8 hours, 10 minutes. Any longer and, well, lets see that magic help you than." And with out any other word, he was gone, and he, Harry, was on his own for the first time ever.

He looked around. It was the first time he had ever been in London. 'It's much larger than Privet Drive, that's for sure.' There were so many people and so much noise, from the cars zooming by to the construction being done down the street where a new shop called Starbucks was being put up to the dozens of people walking by talking and quite ignoring him.

Turning around he saw what Professor Dumbledore must have been talking about. On one side of pub their was a record shop and on the other side was a big book shop, but in between them was a barely visible door, with an even less visible sign above it in dark green writing saying 'The Leaky Cauldron.' The other people on the street, the muggles he supposed they were, didn't seem to pay the door or sign any mind, so Dumbledore must have been right that they couldn't see it.

Taking a deep breath, which, Harry realized, he had been doing a lot these past two days, Harry opened the door to and went inside.

It was a very dark and shabby place. It seemed rather crowded. Every table seemed to have at least two people sitting around it. And the people were very interesting. They were of all shapes and sizes. The table closest to him seemed to have a person so small that standing on the chair, his nose barely reached it. And the woman he was talking to seemed to have warts and boils all over her face and hands.

Not wanting to look like he had been staring, Harry quickly pushed himself into the pub and headed straight to the bar, and the person behind it, who Harry figured was Tom the bartender. He was busy talking to a stout woman with patches of dirt in her hair.

"I tell you Tom," the woman said, taking a sip from the drink in her hand "I don't know why I keep those Venomous Tentacula around."

"Because they are interesting, Pomona," Tom replied, smiling a toothless grin.

"Interesting they may be," the witch named Pomona replied, "but they keep trying to strangle me and every other person who gets near them." With a sigh, she drained the rest of her drink, placed some silver coins on the bar with her glass and said, "I should be going. Albus wants the names of this years prefects."

"I hope they're a good batch this year," Tom said sliding the coins into a tin and picking up the glass. He held up a stick, said "_Scourgify_" and the glass was clean as the day it was made.

As Harry stared open mouthed, Pomona responded by saying, "They usually are Tom, except for the ones Severus chooses. I mean, is Marcus Flint really that responsible of a student? He's one of the students I am afraid will become future Death Eaters one of these days Tom. But, of course if any one asks, I think highly of my colleague's and their fine choices," Pomona added with a sly smile when it seemed she might have said too much.

"Of course, Pomona," Tom kindly said, smiling as sly a smile as the witch. "Have a good day." He added as she got up to go.

"And to you as well, Tom." She smiled kindly at Harry, who she just saw, and went out the door on next to the bar. Harry figured it must have been a back door because sunlight streamed in.

"May I help you son," Tom asked, turning to Harry.

"Yes," Harry answered, rather anxiously. He had never talked to a wizard before and hoped he didn't say something stupid or offensive. "I need help getting in Diagon Alley."

"Ah, new to Hogwarts are you," Tom said. Harry had at least enough sense to not answer that, for it was clear it wasn't a question. "But, where are your parents, my son?" Tom asked, looking around for any one who might look like an older Harry.

"They're dead," Harry said.

"Oh. I am so sorry, son," and he really did look it. And looking rather affronted and awkward at possibly upsetting the boy, Tom came out from around the bar, but stopped when he finally got a good look at him.

'Could it be?' Tom thought looking the boy up and down. He had James Potter in his pub too many times too not recognize him, even 10 years after his death. And this boy, except for his eyes, was the exact replica of James. Could this boy be Harry Potter?

Tom's eyes raked the boy's forehead and let out a cursed himself. 'Damn you old fool. This is the 8th boy that I've thought was Harry Potter this year. It's not his fault, it's not any of their faults, if they happen to look like an 11 year old boy with black hair. Get a grip on yourself.'

Harry saw Tom pause and look at his forehead and didn't know what to make of it. Was this normal wizard behavior or was Tom just old and weird.

But he didn't have time to ponder what just happened because Tom was taking him through the door the other witch used. On the other side looked like the end of an alley in a horror movie: a brick wall with a trash can and a few cardboard boxes next to it with space about as large as the Dursley's kitchen. Nothing very magical about it. And where did that witch Pomona go?

Tom brought him to the brick wall, pulled out the stick he used to clean the glass, 'It must be his wand' Harry thought. "When you want to get to Diagon Alley through my pub, just pull out your wand and just tap this brick," he indicated which brick with his wand, "three times like so."

After Tom tapped the brick, it quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – a second later they were facing an archway large enough for a man 10-times the size of Harry, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Tom, "to Diagon Alley"

Harry stared in amazement. He looked up at Tom, tried to say thank you, but words seemed to fail him at the moment. But Tom seemed to understand what he was trying to say, for he cuffed Harry's shoulder and said, "Your welcome. And have a good first time, both here and Hogwarts. I know I did."

Harry nodded. "I will." That was almost guaranteed.

"Do you need any help get around?" Tom asked, worried about this adult-less child.

"No, I know what I have to do, but thanks," Harry smiled at the man, who gave Harry another toothless smile back. Harry stepped through the archway and when he was through, it began to slowly close back into the wall. Harry looked through the wall and saw Tom head back to his pub. When the hole was as big as his head, Harry said, "Thank you, Tom. My name is Harry Potter by the way." And it was now a wall again. Harry turned around, looked down the street, and headed off, excitement coursing through his being.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, Tom was still processing what he had heard. When the nice boy's parting sentence got to the words "My name is Harry Potter" Tom gasped, promptly leapt about four feet in the air, and ran over to the wall. He quickly pulled out his wand, tapped the right brick, and waited as it slowly opened to show an empty path way.

"Was he Harry Potter really? Or has my mind finally gone loopy."

He couldn't stay out here forever, he had a bar to run, but was determined to see 'Harry' again when he made his round trip.

Tom closed the archway and went back into The Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

The description of the opening archway was taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 71


	4. Gringotts & Friends

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By: HarryDude85

When Harry trusted his instincts and opened his first Hogwarts letter away from prying eyes, the difference this one simple act has on the future is astounding.

I don't own any of these characters.

I am trying to make everything different, but something's will be the lifted right from the books, mostly the first time Harry sees something or someone or when he gets to a new place. For instance, his description of Diagon Alley will be directly ripped from the book 95 of the time. But the important stuff, like his interactions with people will be drastically different than the book, because he's not with Hagrid, this is not his birthday, so the people are different, and he doesn't know who he is yet. As you've already seen, that scar tape has already deterred one person, and it won't be the last.

Enjoy.

* * *

The first thing Harry saw after walking a few feet was a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass Pewter, Silver – Self-stirring – Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

How Harry wished he could own a solid gold cauldron, just so he could rub it in the Dursley's faces.

He walked up the street more, and the whole time Harry wished he had about eight more eyes. He turned his head in every direction he walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things inside them, the people doing their shopping. Their was a boy crying because his dad wouldn't buy him a new broomstick, his reason being, "The last time you were on a broomstick you knocked you grandmother out a window!"

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium – Tawny, Screech, barn, Brown, and Snowy. A boy a few years older than Harry was practically drooling at the window of a shop called Quality Quidditch Supplies. "The new Nimbus Two Thousand. Come on Dad, I have to have that. We won't lose this year with me on that thing." Too which his father said, "I'm sure you wouldn't, Oliver, but we are on a tight budget and you already have a perfectly good broomstick."

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Harry had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon, there was even a store that had a magic wand lying in its window.

There wasn't a store he didn't want to go in. Every one looked as if he could spend an eternity in them and never get bored. But in order to get his supplies, he needed to get money from Gringotts.

He didn't see any signs indicating where the bank might be, and after passing many more amazing stores, Harry was about to ask someone for help when he heard a girls voice say, "I found Gringotts, Daddy. See, it's right there."

Harry turned toward the voice and saw a girl who was probably his age, and she was with her mother, father, and what appeared to be her twin sister. Harry followed her pointing arm to a building so drastically different from the rest of the surrounding shops, he didn't know how he missed it.

It was a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold was what Harry assumed was a goblin. It was about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a long mustache and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet.

Harry walked behind the twin girls and their parents. The goblin bowed to the family and when Harry reached him, it bowed again. "Thank you." Harry said. For some reason, the goblin looked at him rather strangely, as if he had never heard those words, but he said nothing. Or, he did until Harry was out of earshot and muttered, "Your welcome."

Harry followed the family through a second pair of doors, reading the engraving about what would happen to thieves that was above them as he went.

As he entered the vast marble hall that must have been the main lobby, he saw about a hundred more goblins sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors too count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. There were a few lines of people along the counters trying to get or deposit money.

Following the instructions of Dumbledore's letter, Harry looked to both sides. On his right side a goblin was leaning against the wall, counting a large pile of gold. Harry approached the goblin.

"Excuse me," Harry said as politely as he could, because he learned from Uncle Vernon that people don't to be interrupted when they are working.

The goblin looked up, and said in a surprisingly rough voice for something so small, "Yes."

He didn't seem upset at being interrupted, so Harry continued with, "I'm Harry Potter, and Professor Dumbledore said that you could direct me to Bargox."

The goblin gave Harry the kind of look that that Tom the bartender had given him, including raking his forehead with his eyes.

But nothing seemed to be wrong so the goblin said, "So your Harry Potter." Again his eyes raked his forehead.

"Yes." Harry said trying to keep the annoyance out of voice, remembering what Dumbledore told him about goblins.

"If you say so," the goblin. He grabbed the gold on the floor, put it in a pouch on his belt and got up. He started walking down the hall and indicated that he wanted Harry to follow him. "But if you ask me, I'm not that impressed."

"Not impressed with what?" Harry sincerely asked.

"Modesty doesn't get you anywhere, Mr. Potter," the goblin sneered. And before Harry could respond to that odd comment, the goblin held his hand out, indicating a line of two people in front of a goblin. 'He must be Bargox,' thought Harry.

"Good day, Mr. Potter," his escort said bowing and starting to walk away, Harry presumed, back to his own counter.

"Thank you," Harry said, before the goblin could walk to far away. Harry thought he saw him falter, but the next second he was walking as normally as anyone.

The person in front of the line finished his business and left. After he moved up in line, Harry looked to his left and saw the family he followed in. The two girls seemed to be as fascinated with this place as Harry was, so maybe they were muggle-born and this was their first time here. He noticed the sign above them said muggle money exchange, and that confirmed his theory.

Deciding to be bold, this was his first day in a new world after all and that should include making new friends, Harry said to them, "Hi."

The two girls turned to him. He could see instantly that they were, in fact, twins; Identical twins, to be more accurate. Their was no way to tell them apart, at least by their faces. One was a little shorter than the other and she had a skirt on. The taller one had on jeans. They and their parents were also of Indian descent, if their brown skin was to be any indication. Harry couldn't help but think they both were very pretty as well.

"Hi," the taller girl said. "Are you going to Hogwarts too?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I'm sorry if this seems rude, but I've never met twins before. You two seem very interesting."

They both giggled and the smaller one said, "It's not rude. We get that all the time. I'm Parvati Patil, by the way," she said extending her hand. "And this, if you couldn't figure it out, is my twin sister, Padma. And those are our parents." She indicated her parents. Her mother turned around from talking to the goblin enough to smile at her daughters' new friend before going back to the conversation.

Harry shook Parvati's hand, than Padma's. "I'm Harry Potter." For the first time, Harry met someone today who didn't look at his forehead when he met them, and that made him feel very grateful, although he didn't know why.

"Nice to meet you Harry," Padma said. She looked around and Harry thought he knew what was coming. And he was right when Padma asked, "Where are you parents, Harry?"

"I don't have any. They're dead," he added to clear their confusion.

They both gasped and clasped their hands to the mouths. "Oh Harry, I'm sorry." Padma moaned. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know, we just met. How could you have?" Harry said trying to calm them down.

"But still, we feel so stupid for asking," Parvati explained. "When did they – "

"Parvati!" her twin hissed trying to shut her up. Padma smiled at him and said, "I'm sorry for her, she doesn't have much control when it comes to asking personal questions."

Parvati glared at Padma, but before she could say anything, Harry interjected and said, "It's alright, you guys. It's fine. And, they died when I was one in a car crash, so I don't know much about them. Although I do know they went to Hogwarts." Harry didn't know why he was saying all of this, why he was telling practical strangers about his dead parents, but a part of him was happy not only to have someone to talk to, but something to say about his parents other than that they were dead.

"Oh, that's so sweet," Parvati squealed. "So they were like high school sweathearts or something."

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, we were going to get some ice cream after we got our money," Padma said. "We will shop afterward, but we are hungry and we saw an ice cream shop on our way here."

"Yeah, I think I saw that to," Harry said. "Fortescue's or something."

"Right, well do you want to join us?" Padma asked hopefully. Harry looked at Parvati and she too had the same look.

Harry was really, really tempted to say yes, but…

"I want to, I really do. But I don't know how long it will take me to get my money, and I'm kind of on a tight schedule." Even though he had 7 hours and 48 minutes left of his 8 hours, he wanted to get as much exploring done today as possible, because Harry didn't know when he would be able to come back after he left. "Maybe we will meet later today. And if we don't, we will see each other on the train, right."

He could tell this wasn't what they wanted to hear. Fearing he already blew his first friendship, Harry tried to backtrack when, "That's alright, Harry. We know you would if you could," said Padma.

"Yeah," her twin added. "Don't beat yourself up about it."

"You sure," Harry asked, as he was new too this whole friendship thing, he didn't know if their were any signs here he was missing.

"Of course," said Parvati. "Like you said, we might meat up later today and if not we will see each other on the train."

"And," Padma piped in, a look of sudden inspiration on her face, "I heard that in the wizarding world, people communicate by writing letters and sending them with owls. So if you or one of us buy's an owl that could work!"

"It could but I have know idea how much money I have," conceded Harry.

"And I don't think we have enough money to get an owl," Parvati said. "But we do have the telephone. Do you have one Harry?"

Harry grimaced. "I do, but I don't that would be the best idea, trust me." He pictured Uncle Vernon's reaction when he found out people from his school were calling his house and Harry shuddered.

"Why?" asked Padma, just as their parents stepped behind them.

"Hello," Mr. Patil said, holding his hand out. "I'm Padma and Parvati's father. I see you three have been getting along." Mr. Patil was a kind looking man, eyes as brown his daughters, and his black hair was combed over to give him the impression of a business man, which Harry supposed he probably was, seeing he was a muggle.

"Yes we have daddy," Parvati said, beaming at her father as Harry shook his hand. "We have just been making plans to talk the rest of the summer."

"You have, have you? That's nice." Mrs. Patil was just as kind looking as her husband. Her shoulder length black hair went well with her round face, and with eyes as dark as the rest of her family's. Looking at Mr. and Mrs. Patil, it was clear to Harry that Padma and Parvati inherited their looks from both parents.

"It's nice too meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Patil," Harry said as he shook hands with his new friend's mother. "I'm Harry Potter."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry," said Mrs. Patil. "Are you going to Hogwarts this year as well?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry.

"'Ma'am'!? How very polite," said an impressed Mr. Patil. "Where are your parents, Harry? I want to meet the people who raised such a nice young boy." He, like Tom in The Leaky Cauldron earlier, looked around the hall trying to find people who might have been Mr. and Mrs. Potter.

"Dad," Padma hissed, and when Mr. Patil looked down at his daughter, she was shaking her head, eyes wide in warning.

"It's alright, Padme," said Harry, smiling in thanks at her for trying to protect him. He looked up at a confused Mr. and Mrs. Patil and said, "My parents are dead, sir."

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry to hear that," said Mrs. Patil. She was going to say something that was hopefully comforting, but before she could, a grumpy voice next to the group said, "Next in line."

Harry looked up in line for the first time since he started talking to Padma and Parvati. The man in front of him in line had just left, and it was Harry's turn to get money.

He turned back to his new friends and said, "Well that's me."

The two adults didn't want to have them leave like this, finding out their daughters' new friend was an orphan, but Harry made it better by saying, "I will try and buy an owl so we can keep in touch for the rest of the summer. And if I don't see you till September 1, than I guess we'll see each other on the train."

"I would like that," said Parvati.

"So would I," agreed Padma.

"Well, I'd better go," said Harry, watching the impatient scowl form on Bargox's face. "I doesn't look like he will wait much longer for me."

"It was a great pleasure meeting you, Harry," said Mr. Patil, holding his hand out, and when Harry grabbed it, he added, "I hope it won't be the last."

"I hope not as well," grinned Harry as he shook everyone else's hand. With the final good-bye and promise for the kids to meet each other on the train to school, the Patil's left the bank.

Smiling as he turned to Bargox, "Hello, I'm Harry Potter."

"Good for you," Bargox sneered, lip curled.

Smile faltering slightly, Harry continued. "Professor Dumbledore told me that you have the key to my vault. Do you?"

Grumbling about kids and spoiled celebrities, which Harry figured that applied to another costumer, Bargox began rummaging through a drawer in his desk. He must have been searching for 2 minutes before he emerged with the key. He handed it to Harry and rung a bell on his desk at the same time.

After he took the key, Harry looked to see another goblin approach.

"Sladdiff will take you to you vault, Mr. Potter. Follow him."

With another thank you, Harry followed Sladdiff too one of the doors leading off the hall. Expecting more marble on the other side of the doors the door, Harry was surprised. He was in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Sladdiff whistled and a cart came hurtiling up the tracks toward them. The climbed in and were off.

It was like a roller coaster. Sharp turns all over the place, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, all over the place they went, it seemed to Harry. Despite the cold rushing air stinging his eyes, Harry kept them open, not wanting to miss a thing. He thought he saw a burst of fire, but they were moving too fast for Harry too see in time.

"What was that?" shouted Harry over the rushing air.

"Dragon," replied Sladdiff.

"A dragon! Dragons are real!?"

"Of course." The goblin gave him an odd look.

Before Harry could say anything to that blunt statement, the cart came to a abrupt stop. Looking around, Harry saw a door to a vault. His vault.

Harry gave Sladdiff the key and unlocked the door. A lot of green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry gasped. Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of bronze.

"All this is mine?" a floored Harry asked.

"Yep. All of this was legally transferred to the belonging of Harry James Potter at the moment of your parent's death."

"What is all of this?" asked Harry looking at Sladdiff. When he saw the raised eyebrow Harry clarified with, "I obviously know that it's gold, silver, and bronze, but I was raised by muggles so I don't know what these are called or how much makes what or – "

"The smaller bronze ones," interrupted Sladdiff, " are called Knuts. Twenty-nine Knuts make up a Sickle, which are the bigger silver ones. And the largest ones, the gold, are Galleons, and there are seventeen Sickle's to a Galleon. Does that answer you question?"

"Yes it does. Thank you," answered Harry. "Um, do you happen to have a bag that I can scoop some of this into."

The goblin rolled his eyes, snapped his fingers, and a pouch appeared out of thin air. Harry took it and started scooping handfuls of the money in. He didn't know how much anything would cost, so he got about 8 handfuls. Their was an even amount of each color in the pouch and Harry thought that was enough. Harry figured if there was any left over, he would just keep the money on him so Dudley wouldn't be able to steal anything.

Satisfied with his money, Harry told Sladdiff he could close the door. Sladdiff gave Harry his key, the two got back in the cart, and they were off again.

When they arrived back on the hall level, Harry thanked Sladdiff, and headed toward the doors.

As he stepped outside, ready to buy his school supplies, Harry wondered if he still had time to catch the Patil's at the ice cream parlor.

* * *

The cauldron scene was taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 71

The description of Diagon Alley, with the exception of certain parts, was taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 71 and 72

The descriptions of Gringotts were taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 72-73

The ride in the Gringotts cart was taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 74

The opening of Harrys vault was taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 75


	5. Books & Friends

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By: HarryDude85

When Harry trusted his instincts and opened his first Hogwarts letter away from prying eyes, the difference this one simple act has on the future is astounding.

I don't own any of these characters.

Enjoy.

* * *

'Where should I go first?' wondered Harry, as he looked up and down the street. He thought about meeting up with the Patil's and getting some ice cream, but Harry really wanted to buy his wizard gear. Looking at his watch, he realized he had 6 hours and 50 minutes left. The cart ride took more time than he had thought.

Setting off up the street, Harry told himself he could get the other side when he came back.

After looking in a few windows at the amazing items inside, Harry found his first stop, Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. While not the most exciting first purchase, Harry needed to get school robes.

Entering the store, Harry noticed that he was the only one there. At least he thought he was until a smiling, squat witch came out from the back, dressed in light yellow.

"Hogwarts?" the witch, who Harry figured to be Madam Malkin, not waiting for a response before directing Harry to the room she just came out of.

An Asian girl and her mother were back there as well. The girl was around Harry's age, maybe a little older. They seemed to be putting the girl's robes in a shopping bag.

"Thank you, Madam Malkin," the mother said as she handed over some Galleons. "Cho has grown so much in the last year that those earlier robes were much too short."

"It happens all the time, Mrs. Chang," Madam Malkin said, taking the money. "I probably get the same person in here 3 or 4 times from their first year to their seventh."

"Well then, I guess you can expect to see us at least two more times," said Mrs. Chang. She grabbed Cho's hand, said good-bye too Madam Malkin, smiled kindly when she saw Harry, and the two of them left.

"Now than, young man," said Madam Malkin, "why don't you hop up right here." She indicated an elevated platform in front of the mirror.

Harry did as she instructed. She than waved her wand and a tape measure flew from her desk and began taking measurements.

"Where are your parents, mister… uh?" she asked as she wrote what Harry assumed were his measurements on a clipboard.

Not wanting too have any more pity from another stranger, Harry decided to lie about his parents, just this once.

"They're out buying other Hogwarts supplies. And it's Mr. Potter."

"Of course, Mr. Pot –" she dropped her clipboard.

"What! What's wrong?" asked Harry.

Madam Malkin just stared at him, but when she, like others before her, gazed at his forehead, she seemed to have realized what she had done. Coughing embarrassed, she bent down to pick up her clipboard and quill.

"Nothing, Mr. Potter. I just thought you were somebody else, that's all. But your not; you're just you." She smiled rather awkwardly.

Later, after Harry had left with his new robes, he thought that Madam Malkin was a strange lady.

The day went like that. He would enter a new store, gape at the merchandise, buy his supplies, and every once and awhile, some one would act weird and look at his forehead.

Every store he would go to, except the Apothecary, he bought more than just his school supplies. He would get things that he thought could help him help understand the new world better. In the store for full of things for Astronomy classes, he bought an ever changing calendar, that would have a new fact about the planets and stars that would change every day. It also would automatically change months and years, so he would never have to buy another calendar for the rest of his life. In the store dedicated to Defense Against the Dark Arts merchandise, Harry bought his required school book, _A Guide to Self-Protection_, but also bought a book about dark beasts and creatures that wouldn't be found in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

Finally, with 2 hours left, Harry had only three more shops to visit: Eeylops Owl Emporium to get an owl, Flourish and Blotts for his school books, and Ollivanders to get his wand. That was he was most looking forward to: owning a magic wand. Whenever Dudley would try to steal from him, or hit and push him, or do anything cruel, Harry could just take out his wand and say, "If you touch me, I'll make sure you spend the rest of the day walking on your tongue." Of course, Harry had no idea how to do that, but Dudley wouldn't know that.

Deciding he should get his books first, because he didn't know if the book store would allow animals in it, Harry, lugging his bags of supplies and new school trunk, entered Flourish and Blotts.

It was everything he had hoped it would be. Books everywhere, filling every space where people didn't have to stand, shelves higher than Harry had ever seen, tables all over the place with no wood visible because they were all covered with books such as _Holiday's with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart and _How to Tackle Dancing Yogurt_ by Temprance Dyat.

One of the things Dudley and his gang teased Harry about – besides his hair, scar, glasses, dead parents, scrawny appearance, elephant skin clothes, and lack of friends – was his love of books. He absolutely loved to read. Most day's at his old school, he would forgo lunch and recess to go read in the library. Their was nothing more liberating for Harry than to escape the lonely ness of his life to pursue the white whale with Captain Ahab, float down the Mississippi with Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, or explore Wonderland with Alice. And now his world was open to even more with the information and fiction that these endless books of the wizarding world would provide.

Deciding that he would find and purchase his school books before he got any books for his own entertainment, Harry went around skimming the numerous shelves, looking for the books on his school list, but also mentally book marking anything that might peak his interest for later.

Fining all the appropriate school books Harry paid for them. He went to the front of the store where he left the rest of his school supplies, because it would be too much of a hassle to lug them around the store and put his new books in his trunk.

With still half of his money pouch full, Harry knew there was more than enough to buy a few books for himself, get an owl, a wand, and still have more left over.

The store was slightly full. Harry knew from when he was searching for book that there were a few families looking for supplies like Harry was. But the many shelves made the store appear almost empty. If it wasn't for the loud, excited talking that could be heard throughout the entire store, Harry would have guessed that he was alone, just by sight alone.

Harry had just found a rather thick book that was about Hogwarts, called _Hogwarts: A History,_ and had pulled it down to add it to his pile of other books he found when the empty look of Flourish and Blotts became a hindrance.

After paying for his new recreational books, Harry was so engrossed with walking while reading _The Many, Many, Many, Many, Headmaster's of Hogwarts and their Contributions to the World_, that he didn't hear the nearby call of "Here, Hermione, I think your mother found it."

And since Harry didn't hear the first shout, he also didn't hear the shriek of excitement and the "I'm coming!" that followed it.

And so, it was with great ignorance, that Harry accidentally stepped in the path of a speeding, excited girl.

The book and the bag that held the other newly purchased books in his hands fell to the ground. Harry's glasses flew off of his face and, opening his eyes, he noticed within a split second that he and the girl who ran into him were going to crash to the ground. It that wouldn't have been that big of a deal, except Harry was positioned to land on top of the girl, and that would certainly hurt her. Since his hands had clenched onto the girl's arms when he dropped his books, Harry, with his feet still partially on the ground, did the best he could and attempted to jump to the left.

How it worked, Harry would never figure out, even when he thought about it years later. Maybe it had to do the strength that only Harry knew he had at the time. Maybe it was some of that underage magic that happened around that time. Maybe it was a combination of the two or something completely unrelated, Harry didn't know. All he did know was that he next felt a hard slam against his back and a rather heavy weight on top of him.

"Hermione!" Two voices shouted out.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at the girl on top of him. She, who he figured was named Hermione, had her hands wrapped around his waist, her eyes were clenched shut, and her head was pressing so hard into his chest, he was afraid their might be an indentation. Her massive amount of bushy black hair covered his chest so thoroughly that it looked like he was wearing a hairy, brown sweater.

Aware that the only movement now was both of their steady breathing, Hermione opened her eyes and looked up at Harry. Harry noticed that her eyes were brown like her hair.

"Hi," said Harry.

"Hi," squeaked Hermione. She seemed to have realized how close the two of them were because she quickly let go of Harry and got up.

"Hermione, what happened? Are you alright?" asked Hermione's mother.

Harry got to his feet while Hermione answered, "I'm fine. I just ran into this boy here and knocked the two of us to the floor. I'm fine Mum, I swear," said Hermione, who was trying to please her mother who was trying to find any injuries.

It was Hermione's dad who first looked at Harry.

"Are you alright there, son?" he asked.

"Yes sir, I'm fine," answered Harry, who then bent over to pick up his books. He noticed Hermione bend over to do the same thing. "You don't have to do that. I can get this by myself," said Harry.

"I know," said Hermione, "but I knocked you over and spilt your books, so I want to help you pick them up."

When all of his books were collected Harry turned to Hermione, who was looking at the copy of _Hogwarts: A History _she had just handed him_._ "Oh, you got this book too? Well, I mean, of course you got it, you just paid for it, but I was just asking because I have it and I practically memorized it. I have most of my school books memorized; I have read them so much. Of course, I've had my school books since September, that's when I found out that I was a witch, on my birthday, September 19th. My parents are muggles so they didn't know any of this either, but we are all so excited that I'm going to Hogwarts. And I know what your thinking, 'If she got her school books in September, why is she here now?' Well that's easy. We've been coming here once a month so I can get more books. Every time we get here, we buy books about a new school subject. Last month I got books about Herbology and this month, today, I'm getting some on Potions. That way I have time to read up on each subject I great detail, and not just our course books. The only subject I have to get extra books on is Defense Against the Dark Arts, so when we come back in August, I will know what to get. How about you? When did you find out you were a wizard? Oh, my name is Hermione Granger by the way. What's yours?" She said all of this barely taking a breath.

Harry just stared at her, trying to keep his jaw from hitting the floor in stunned shock. Before he could answer, Mrs. Granger stepped in. "Let the boy breathe Hermione. We know how excited you are about this magic business, but you need to learn to control yourself," she advised lovingly. Mrs. Granger than turned to Harry and said, "I am, as you probably figured out, Hermione's mother, Mary. And this is my husband, Travis. Are you sure you're all right? That was quite a fall"

Harry shook both of their hands, and said "I'm fine. It's very nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter"

And for the first time since he had met the Patil's hours earlier, their was no reaction at all from any of the Granger's to his name, and, like with the Patil's, he was very relieved about this.

"It's very nice to meet you Harry," said Hermione. It was at that moment, Harry realized, that she was a little blurry. Maybe that fall had hurt him after all. He went to push his glasses back up his nose, but they weren't there.

'Right,' Harry thought as he looked down, 'they fell off when Hermione hit me.'

"Is something wrong, Harry?" asked Mr. Granger.

"My glasses fell off when Hermione ran into me. I just remembered."

"Oh, let us help you," volunteered Mrs. Granger.

"That would be great, thanks."

The four of them scoured the aisle they were in, looking for Harry's missing glasses for a minute until, "Here they are," exclaimed Hermione, quickly followed by "but their broken."

Sure enough, when Harry joined the Granger's, the glass in Harry's right eye was cracked. Harry tried them on, but it was no good.

"Ah man," moaned Harry, taking the busted glasses off. "And the Dursley's told me if I broke them again I would be on my own." He looked down at the glasses and felt as if his ability to read had shattered along with the glass, for Harry was quite unable to read well at all without his glasses. And Harry had no idea when he would be able to get them fixed or get a new pair.

"Give them here, Harry," said Hermione, holding out her hand.

"What can you do? Their broken," reminded Harry, but handed them over anyway.

"You forget, Harry," said Hermione as she pulled out her wand, "I'm a witch." She tapped the glasses and said "_Repairo_" and the glass fixed it self, good as new. Not only that, but the tape holding the snapped frames disappeared and the crack that had been there since Dudley punched him in the nose on hi 6th birthday was gone. It was as if Harry had just purchased a new pair, they were so perfect.

"Thanks, Hermione," said Harry as he put the glasses back on. There weren't even any fingerprints.

"It was the least I could do. I did break them," smiled Hermione. Harry smiled back and thought he saw her cheeks redden a little. It must have been a trick of the light, because when he looked again, she was as white cheeked as before.

"Who are the Dursley's, Harry," asked Mr. Granger after the great glasses debacle was solved.

"They're my muggle family: my uncle, aunt, and cousin. I've lived with them my whole life, at least, after my Mum and Dad died," explained Harry, preferring to get the truth about his parents out of the way.

"Oh, I'm sorry Harry," apologized Mr. Granger.

"Its fine," said Harry, and, desperate to change the subject, asked Hermione, "How did you fix my glasses. I know you're a witch and all, but I thought we had to go to school to do that?"

"Oh no, not for simple things like that," explained Hermione, also glad they weren't talking about her new friends dead parents, not because she didn't care, but because she didn't know what to say. "We need to go to Hogwarts for much more complicated stuff, but that I learned how to do from reading our Charms textbook. But I can only do it now, before we go to Hogwarts, because once we get back, we won't be able to practice magic at home."

"Interesting," said Harry. He glanced at his watch and saw that he only had 1 hour and 30 minutes until Uncle Vernon came to pick him up. "Yikes!" Looking up at the Grangers he said, "Sorry, I have to go. I'm kind of on a tight schedule."

"Alright," said Mr. Granger. "Well, since you said you live with muggles, do you think you and Hermione would be able to call one another until September?"

Hermione looked embarrassed at her father for asking the question she was going to ask, but hopeful that the answer would be the one she was wanting.

But once again, the image of Uncle Vernon entered Harry's mind and he was forced to say, "No, I don't think that would be the best idea. But," he quickly added, seeing Hermione's crestfallen face, "I am planning to buy an owl when I leave here, so we could write each other, if that's alright."

Hermione simply beamed. "That would be great." Quickly she pulled out a quill and ink from her bag, grabbed Harry's hand, and wrote on the back of it. "Hermione!" Her mother scolded, quickly followed by Hermione's, "Sorry, but I don't see any spare parchment or paper, and I need to give him my address."

Sure enough, when Hermione finished, Harry saw Hermione's address on his hand.

"Tell your owl to come there," said Hermione.

"I will," smiled Harry. He looked back at his watch, saw that he had 5 less minutes than he did before, and said, "Sorry to run off, but I really have to go."

"Well, than Mr. Potter," said, Mr. Granger, holding out his hand, which Harry took, "I hope to meet you again."

"So do I, sir," said Harry, who than shook Mrs. Granger's hand, "Ma'am."

Turning to Hermione, he held out his hand and said, "I hope to see you on the train, Hermione."

She took his hand and said, "So do I, Harry." There was no mistaking it this time: she was blushing, and just the thought that he made a girl blush made Harry blush as well.

Not wanting to embarrass himself further, Harry grabbed his book bag, said, "Good-bye," and headed toward the door, where the rest of his school supplies waited.

He exited Flourish and Blotts, ready to enter Eeylops Owl Emporium, feeling a light happiness that had nothing to do with books.

* * *

Wow, an entire chapter full of "my own" material. Nothing in this chapter was taken from the book aside from the very brief description of Madam Malkin, which I tweaked slightly and the title of the Lockhart book.

Now, before I get so many flames that my head catches on fire, let me say that, yes, Hermione will develop a crush on Harry. Whether Harry will crush back, even I don't know yet. Let me say, again, that this is going to be a very different story of "Harry Potter". Not all relationships will be as they were in the books, for Harry will be meeting them at different times. I still don't plan for Harry to find out about his connection to Voldemort for another few chapters.

And as for the couples, their may be Harry/Ginny and Ron/Hermione, their might not. I will have to see where this goes. But I have always thought that if Harry and Hermione had met with out Ron around them, there would have been a spark. I'm not saying it would have been love, but it would have been something.

And let me just say, it was a real bitch coming up with why Hermione, who had learned that she was a witch almost a year before Harry, would be in Diagon Alley and not know who Harry was. I kept coming up with so many other ways, but I was always stuck with the fact that there was no way she wouldn't know about him, until I thought about what I wrote. I don't know if it makes much sense, but I thought that would be so Hermione, to learn each subject at once so she could catalog it away and never forget it before she moved on to something else. I mean, that's what screws her over in Prisoner of Azkaban, afterall.

So, yeah. That's it for now. Later.


	6. Owls & Wands, But No Friends

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By: HarryDude85

When Harry trusted his instincts and opened his first Hogwarts letter away from prying eyes, the difference this one simple act has on the future is astounding.

I don't own any of these characters.

Enjoy.

* * *

Harry entered Eeylops. It was a rather messy, smelly place, full of owls of all sizes and colors in cages. There wasn't much space for the customer, as most of the shop was cut off by a counter, behind which were all of the owls. There was only one person in the shop aside from Harry, and he was behind the counter, feeding a few owls.

The man behind the counter looked up as Harry approached the counter. He was a tall, thin man, with a scruffy white beard that sort of looked like owl wings. He had large, yellow eyes like a hawk that seemed to pierce Harry.

"Hello, my boy," the man said in a big hearty voice. "Welcome to Eeylops Owl Emporium. My name is Gregory Eeylop. How can I help you?"

Harry started to say something, but Mr. Eeylop cut him off, "Let me guess," he said as he raised a finger, "you're going to Hogwarts, and you want an owl."

"Yes, sir."

" 'Yes, sir' he says," exclaimed Mr. Eeylop, throwing his hands in the air in celebration of being right. " 'How did he get that one right?' You ask? Well, my boy, when you have been in the business as long as I have, you tend to get used to nice children such as yourself coming in, asking for their first owl. Busiest time of year, the summer." Harry looked around at the empty shop. Mr. Eeylop caught his glances and smiled. "Trust me, my boy, when I say that this is a slow day."

"Now," said Mr. Eeylop, fun still in his voice, but Harry could tell that now that the niceties had been observed, it was time to get down to business. "What kind of owl are we looking for, son?"

"I don't know," Harry answered honestly. "I was raised by muggles, so I don't know the differences between owls. Is there differences?"

"Are there differences?" Mr. Eeylop clutched his chest in mock shock, but quickly "recovered."

"My boy, the differences are astounding. Come on back," he said, lifting up the counter top. "Let me give you a more detailed explanation."

Harry joined Mr. Eeylop behind the counter, and watched as M. Eeylop described the different kind of owls.

"The most dependable owls there are usually are adult owls," began Mr. Eeylop. "While younger and older owl's, do get the job done, there are drawbacks. Older owls take longer than usual to make a delivery. While that may not be that big of a difference if you are writing from here to Surrey, but if you wanted to write from here to Rome, the wait could be as long as three months. Not worth it. Now, younger owls, they are actually faster than adult owls. The drawback is you just have to put up with a lot of crap, literally and figuratively. They never shut up and are so hyper you have to stun them in order to make them sleep."

"Is their any difference in types of owl," asked Harry. "Like is a tawny better than screech, and so forth."

"In my experience, no," confessed Mr. Eeylop. "But, if the owl likes you, and you and it have a strong, loving relationship, then it will work better than any other owl."

Owl's were kind of like dog's, Harry thought. They are loyal, they will work harder, but if they don't like you, they will slack off and be afraid of you. "So how do I know what owl is right for me?"

"You'll know," the store owner said. "Now take your pick." He stepped back in order to let Harry make his decision.

Harry looked at the owl's surrounding him. They all were impressive in one way or another. They all seemed healthy, middle aged – how Harry could tell that, he didn't know – and seemed like they would all be good choices.

Harry was about to tell Mr. Eeylop that he couldn't choose and ask him to pick for him when he saw her. Which was odd to Harry, because the owl could easily have been male, but Harry some how knew that she was a she.

She happened to be a snowy white owl, with large amber eyes and curved beak. She was looking straight at him, as if telling him that she was the right choice.

Harry held his arm out and the owl flew from her perch and landed on his arm. He raised his hand to pet her head, and when he did, the creature cooed. She was so soft, as if she herself were made of snow, but radiated warmth and stead of icy cold.

"Well, well," said Mr. Eeylop. "I am impressed. Excellent choice, sir."

"What's so impressive?" asked Harry.

"I have carried that bird in this shop for near 20 years. Never has she reacted so strongly to any one, not even with me. I think you will be very happy with your selection."

Harry continued to stroke his new owl. He then asked, "How much."

Mr. Eeylop thought for a moment, than said, "Tell you what. Since I like you, kid, and since you seem to get along with her so well, I'll lower the price from 30 galleons and 3 sickles to just 5 galleons. I'll even throw in her cage for free."

Harry paid for the owl, put her in her cage and paid the 5 galleons.

As he headed out the door, Mr. Eeylop called after him, "Have a great life."

When Harry shut the door to the owl shop, he felt his heart start to pound. Now that he had done everything else and had an hour still left until Uncle Vernon came, Harry could do what he wanted to since he first put down his Hogwarts letter; buy a magic wand.

Nothing had made him eager all day as the thought of getting a wand: not seeing his money in the Gringotts vault; not the endless volumes of books in Flourish and Blotts; not even the making of his first friends in Padma, Parvati, and Hermione.

As he walked down Diagon Alley toward Ollivanders, the wand shop, he had his owl in her cage in one hand, was dragging his rolling trunk with the other, and his bags full of robes, books, and other supplies were hanging from his arms. They were rather heavy, and Harry couldn't help think that if the Dursley's hadn't made him do all that physical labor for years, Harry might not be strong enough to carry everything by himself. As it were, he was doing rather fine.

As he opened the door to Ollivanders, which was a narrow and shabby shop with a sign overhead, with peeling gold letters that read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C., Harry heard a tinkling bell somewhere in the depths of the shop. He had the feeling he was entering a very strict library. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair. Harry looked at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. Harry put his stuff, down, noticing that the owl had fell a sleep – he was going to have to name her when he got home – and sat down in the chair.

No sooner had he sat down when a soft voice said, "Good afternoon," causing Harry to jump up. An old man was standing before him, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah, yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry Potter."

"How do you know my name?" asked Harry cautiously.

Mr. Ollivander smiled. It did not invite warmth like Mr. Eeylops or make him blush like Hermione's. This one made Harry suppress a shiver.

"You may soon hear this quite often, Mr. Potter, but you have your mother's eyes," said Mr. Ollivander, as he moved closer. "It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inched long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand good for charm work."

Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy.

"Yet you look remarkably like your father. He, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard of course."

Mr. Ollivander came so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes.

"And…" his eyes rose to where Harry's scar should have been, and Mr. Ollivander chuckled, looking away from Harry, much to the boy's relief. 'Alright, Albus. I get it.'

Mr. Ollivander saw what Harry was unable to. While Dumbledore was no doubt concerned about Harry's insecurities, that was not the main reason he had given young Mr. Potter a magical tape that he himself invented. He wanted to prevent anyone on Diagon Alley, more specifically, Mr. Ollivander, from telling Harry the truth about how he got his scar.

'Well, I won't tell him about what happened to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but that doesn't mean I have to keep all secrets.'

Taking a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket, he said, "Well now, Mr. Potter. Let me see. Which is your wand arm?"

"Er – well, I'm right handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, than wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of a dragon. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just like no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inched. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try –"

Harry tried – but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander.

"No, no – here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Harry's new owl woke up with a loud hoot and rattle of her cage and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious… how very curious…"

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"

"Sorry," said Harry, "but _what's_ curious."

Mr. Ollivander looked at Harry and seriously contemplated what to tell him with out disobeying Dumbledore. Finally he settled on the truth… or at least part of it.

"What do you know of the wizarding world, Mr. Potter? What do you know of its people and its history?"

"Nothing, really," answered Harry. "I just found out it existed yesterday."

"Well, Mr. Potter, it is a vitally important fact that you must know that not all witches and wizards are as nice and friendly as the ones you have met today on Diagon Alley."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I mean, just like the muggle world from which you come from, there are evil wizards, criminals. Some of there crimes may be as mild as petty theft or as horrific as genocide."

"Genocide!?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. And a few years back, not long before you were born, there was a wizard so powerful, so evil, so dark, that even today, a decade after his downfall, most people still fear to speak his name."

Harry was listing with rapt attention, partly out of fear, partly out of pure curiosity.

"What was his name?"

"Ooo, I don't like to say it, Mr. Potter. I doubt you will find a wizard on this kind street who will, and let me advise you, that if you do happen to find one, to get as far from him or her as possible, for they were probably one of his followers."

Harry nodded. "But sir, what does all of this have to do with my wand?"

Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix, whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand, when it's brother – why, its brother belonged to the horrible wizard I just described, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Harry swallowed.

"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember… I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter… After all He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr. Ollivander too much, although he would be sure to follow his advice about this dark wizard's followers. He paid seven Galleons for his wand, picked up his supplies, trunk, and owl, and Mr. Ollivander bowed him from his shop.

When the door to Ollivenders closed, Harry pondered stopping by Flourish and Blotts in order to pick up a book that would explain more about this dark wizard, for he hadn't picked up any books about the Dark Arts other than his school required one and one about dark animals and creatures, neither of which would have the kind of information he was interested in.

But when he looked at his watch, Harry saw he only had 20 minutes until Uncle Vernon came to pick him up, and he knew his uncle wasn't joking about leaving him there.

With a sigh, he set off back toward the Leaky Cauldron. It was getting darker now, so he wasn't the only one who decided to head for home. When he saw the stack of cauldrons he saw when he first entered Diagon Alley, of which he now has one, school required pewter instead of gold, though, Harry saw a few families filing through the brick archway.

Back inside The Leaky Cauldron, Harry looked around for Tom the bartender, hoping he would be able to thank him again for helping him this morning, but he wasn't anywhere Harry could see. He thought about waiting for him, but his watch told him he only had three minutes. So Harry exited through the front door back into muggle London.

Harry could tell by the stares he was getting that 10 year old boys with many shopping bags, a large trunk, and an owl weren't normal street walkers. So he just leaned against the wall, and waited for Uncle Vernon to show.

Good as his word, when Harry's 8 hours were officially over, Uncle Vernon's car pulled up, with his large, beefy purple head impossible to miss.

"Got everything, did you," spat Uncle Vernon, looking at Harry's owl and many bag with rage, but not daring to say anything, for he saw what he knew to be Harry's wand sticking out of his front pocket.

"Yes I did," answered Harry calmly. He opened the car's trunk, put his school bags inside and, with great difficulty and with no help from Uncle Vernon, his school trunk.

After he shut the trunk, he grabbed his owl in her cage, and got in the front seat with Uncle Vernon.

Without another word, but many glares of hatred at the owl that was now sitting in his cage on the car floor, Uncle Vernon pulled out and started for home.

Smiling down at his pet, Harry couldn't remember a day that was more fulfilling than the one he just had.

When Harry looked at himself in the visor mirror, Harry was surprised to not see his scar. He had completely forgotten that he used Dumbledore's tape to cover it. As he peeled the tape off and put it in his pocket, Harry had two thoughts when he looked at his re-scared self in the mirror. The first was that he didn't realize how different he looked without it. The second was all of the times people eyes would look toward his forehead today and told him they thought he was somebody else. Could he have been the someone they were talking about and the scar made them think he wasn't?

But how could that be? He had never met a wizard before today. How could they have known him?

Harry yawned. He was too tired to think about that. He'll worry about it tomorrow.

* * *

The description of Ollivanders shop and about 75 percent of what happened inside the store was taken from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American Edition, Pg. 82-85.

Wow. I didn't know it would take me this long to finish up Diagon Alley. Now I'm trying to decide whether or not to make the trip on the Hogwarts Express one chapter or break it down like I did hear.

And yes, he will learn the truth about himself before he gets to Hogwarts.

Later.


	7. The Hogwarts Express

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By: HarryDude85

Thank you to those of you who have reviewed. I have already caught a few mistakes in my writing that I will correct.

I want to address some of the critiques, though. For the Harry/Hermione thing, I know that they are eleven year olds and they've just met, and that's why I'm not going to have them make out in the Room of Requirement in three chapters. But, I for one had a crush on a girl when I was 11. It wasn't anything major, I just liked her, but after elementary school, I never saw her again. And I know others who felt the same way about people. So it's not out of the ordinary for a girl or a boy to have a crush at that age. And, so far, I plan on it being a one sided crush for awhile. And remember, it was Hermione who blushed first in Diagon Alley. Harry only blushed _because_ he made _someone else_ blush, not because he thought Hermione was the most stunning creature in existence.

As for Dumbledore, don't worry, I plan for these him and Harry to sit down and have a chat soon. Remember, Dumbledore basically said to stop by any time Harry felt like it.

And for those worried about Harry becoming Uber-Harry or a male Hermione, I just wanted him to like books. He slacked off a lot in canon because Ron was his closest friend. That won't be true this time, for now at least. Being closer to Hermione and Padma, a Ravenclaw, he will be more studious. But don't worry; I hate it as well when people make Harry into Hermione's double.

As for the Weasley's, I'm still not 100 percent sure what to do about them and their situation, but they will be involved. Harry just might not be spending every summer at the Burrow, is all.

But I have taken you's people's advice and, starting after this chapter, I will cut down on the 'copy-and-paste' thing I have been doing. I may borrow some lines or descriptions here or there, but it won't be as rampant as it was before. I also realized that the whole "Parents dead. Oh sorry" routine was getting rather old, even when I was writing it. But I thought, and still do, it was rather necessary to show some parellel's for later chapter purposes.

And it will become even more AU once he gets to Hogwarts, so don't worry to those who are afraid it's not deviating enough.

Now enough chatter. I'll just say, 'I don't own any of these characters' and we're off!!

* * *

Harry's last month at the Dursley's was a drastic change from his previous ten years. For one thing, he no longer slept in the cupboard under the stairs. When Harry had gotten home from his first trip to Diagon Alley, Aunt Petunia took one look at his school things and told him that if he was going to have all that crap, then he would need more space. That was how Harry found himself in Dudley's second bedroom, the one that used to house all of his old, broken things that Dudley still thought he needed. Now he actually had a bed and desk and a place to stretch out.

That was another different thing. When Harry woke up in his new bed the day after Diagon Alley, he felt very sore. The combination of all those jerky movements in the Gringotts cart, his run in with Hermione, and him lugging all of his heavy stuff around Diagon Alley really took a toll on Harry. Now, Harry spends an hour after breakfast just doing some mild stretches in his room. Nothing too strenuous, but enough to keep his muscles from becoming inactive and sore and to stay in shape.

But possibly the biggest change was that now Harry spent most of his days locked in his room, reading his new textbooks. They were all fascinating, even the slightly boring ones like _A History of Magic_ and _Hogwarts, A History._ But even they had cool information that Harry had loved to learn. Harry now knew what those animals on the schools coat-of-arms stood for. They were the symbols for each of the schools houses that students were divided into on the first night: Badger for Hufflepuff; Lion for Gryffindor; Snake for Slytherin; Eagle for Ravenclaw. Of the four houses, Harry thought Gryffindor and Ravenclaw appealed to him the most. Gryffindor because, while he didn't feel all that brave and noble, that had been Dumbledore's house, and he liked Dumbledore, and Ravenclaw because he liked to read and that seemed like the kind of house that would allow him to read and study more.

He was also taking Hermione's advice and practicing small, simple charms. He wanted to feel a little bit more comfortable on the Hogwarts Express (he had learned that was the name of the train) if he knew some spells. Already he had learned the Repairing Charm that Hermione had used on his glasses (you always need to fix something with Dudley as your cousin), the Unlocking Charm, Alohamora, and the Levitation Charm, Wingardrium Leviosa.

Almost as good as his spell work and spell books, he was now writing to his new friends, Parvati and Padma Patil and Hermione Granger. He was unable to meet up with any of them, because they lived rather far away, but he was able to write weekly to them and have them write back. He named his owl Helena, after a person he read about in his one of his text books, and with her help, Harry had a very enjoyable last few weeks.

But perhaps the most interesting thing came to him on his birthday, July 31st.

Harry was lying on his bed, reading from _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. Like his previous birthdays, Harry was expecting no recognition from anyone about the fact he had turned 11. He hadn't told Hermione, Padma, or Parvati either so he wasn't expecting anything from them. He was still looking forward to his best ever birthday, though, with all of his books to read and spells to practice.

So it came to Harry's great shock when, in the middle of a chapter dedicated to poison healers, he heard a tapping come from his window. He saw on the other side, a large eagle owl perched on his windowsill.

Harry hurried to let it in. When the owl was inside, Harry saw that there was a rather large package tied to the owl's leg.

He quickly removed to package. After giving it some of Helena's water, the large owl flew back out the window and into the distance.

Attached to the package was a note. Written in loopy handwriting that Harry thought he had seen before, but not knowing where, the note said:

Your father left this in my possession before  
he died. It is time it was returned to you.  
Use it well.  
A very Happy Birthday to you.

There was no signature. Harry stared at the note, than turned to the package.

Unwrapping it reveled that the gift was a kind of large traveling cloak. It was fluid and silvery gray. Harry picked up the shining, silvery cloth. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

'Why would somebody send me a cloak?' thought Harry. 'And did it really belong to my dad?'

Deciding he should at least try it on, Harry picked up the cloak and threw it around his shoulders. When Harry looked down at his body, he had to stifle a scream.

His body was gone. Yet he knew it was there, as he could move his legs. He took the cloak on and his body reappeared. Astonished, he put the cloak on again and watched as everything below his neck disappeared.

Hurrying to the mirror, Harry lifted his invisible arm and covered his head. He was gone.

"It's a cloak of invisibility," whispered Harry. He smiled. The things he could do to Dudley with this were limitless.

But that was more than a month ago, and Harry hadn't done much with his cloak except sneak downstairs at night and get something to eat. Harry still wanted to know who sent it to him, but was to busy reading and learning to give it much thought.

He hadn't told any of his friends about the cloak. He would, eventually, but he wanted to keep it a secret for now.

When finally, on the night of August 31st, Harry entered the living room, where the Dursley's were in the same places and doing the same things they were when Harry came into tell them about his letter a month earlier.

"Uncle Vernon," said Harry.

Uncle Vernon grunted, not looking up from his newspaper.

"You said that you would take me to King's Cross Station so I could go to school."

He grunted again.

"Well, it's tomorrow and I was still wondering if you would drive me."

Another grunt.

"Thank you."

He was about to go back upstairs when Uncle Vernon actually spoke.

"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"

Harry didn't say anything. He knew from reading his books why they took the train, but knew that this time this was some abuse he was just going to have to take.

"Where is this school, anyway?"

"I don't know," said Harry, realizing this for the first time. He hadn't read anything in _Hogwarts, A History_ that would tell where it was.

"I just have to take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock," he said.

His aunt and uncle stared. Dudley wasn't paying any attention.

"Platform what?"

"Nine and three-quarters."

"Don't talk rubbish," said Uncle Vernon. "There is no platform nine and three-quarters."

"Yes there is," said Harry defiantly. "It's just that muggles don't know that it's there."

"Barking," said Uncle Vernon, "howling mad, the lot of them. You'll see. You just see. All right, we'll take you to King's Cross."

"'We'?" asked Harry.

"Yes, all of us." He looked at Harry with eyes glistening with malice. "We wouldn't want to miss seeing you off."

This odd sentimentality left Harry slightly dreading tomorrow, despite the fact that he barely got any sleep, as he was so excited to be going.

When he woke up he made sure everything was in his trunk, grabbed Helena and headed downstairs.

The ride from #4 Privet Drive was an uncomfortable one. What do you say to the family you hated when you are about to go away for a year.

When they arrived at Kings cross station, Uncle Vernon unloaded Harry's trunk, dumped it on a cart and wheeled it into the station, which Harry thought was uncharacteristically kind. But then, he understood why, and why all of the Dursley's wanted to come for this, when Uncle Vernon faced him with a nasty grin.

"Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine – platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?"

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all. Even though Harry knew what he had to do to get in, it was still unsettling to have to stand there while the Dursley's laughed uproariously at him.

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile. He left without another word. Harry turned and saw the Dursley's drive away. All three of them were laughing.

Well, he wasn't about to let the Dursley's unnerve him. He knew from Dumbledore's letter that all Harry had to do was run at the barrier between Platforms nine and ten.

Making sure that no one was watching him, Harry placed Helena's cage on his trunk, positioned himself in front of the wall, took a deep breath and broke into a mild run. He closed his eyes when it was too late to turn, bracing for a possible impact, but none came.

Harry stopped running and opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought iron gateway where the barrier had been, with the words _Platform Nine and Three-Quarters_ on it. He had done it. He knew he could.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowds, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another to another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heaving trunks.

A few carriages were already packed with students already. Harry pushed his cart off down the platform to find an empty seat. A taller boy ran by, turning around shouting, "If you want to say good-bye to me, you have to catch me, little sis," before running off again.

A little girl ran after him, tears in her eyes, but a laugh in her voice, shouting, "I'm trying, Cedric, but your to fast."

Harry could hear a nearby boy with dreadlocks standing by his trunk saying to what looked like his older brother, "I bet you 5 Galleons that someone screams when they see what I've got inside."

Harry finally found an empty compartment around the middle of the train. He put Helena inside first, than, using every once of strength that he had earned working for the Dursley's, lifted his trunk in as well. He slid it under his seat before finally sitting down. Now he just had to wait for Padma, Parvati, and Hermione.

He was excited to see all of his friends again, but something in Hermione's last letter really bothered him and he wanted to ask her about it.

She wrote something about "How come you didn't tell me you were _Harry Potter_? Did you think I wouldn't believe you? I just found out, and my god Harry, why didn't you say something? Anything!"

She than said she was going to find him and get to the bottom of this. Harry had no idea what Hermione was talking about, but her letter came a few days before, so he didn't see the point in writing back. 'At least I know that she will come to see me.'

Harry had just seen a big family of redheads enter through the barrier when the compartment door opened.

"There you are! We were looking for you."

"We were worried we weren't going to find you."

Harry smiled at the familiar faces. "Hi Parvati. Hi Padma."

The twins were dressed in jeans and t-shirts like Harry was, but Paravti's had a picture of some American muggle movie star Harry recognized, but whose name he couldn't remember, and Padma's was just blue and green striped.

"How have you been, Harry?" asked Parvati as she stuck her finger in Helen's cage to stroke her.

"Alright. I'm sorry I hadn't written to you guys, but Helena was at Hermione's for awhile, and she just got back two days ago, so I couldn't send anything."

"Its fine," said Padma. "I just wish we could have gotten together. And Hermione as well."

"So did I," said Harry. "But it just wouldn't have worked out."

Before either of the girls could have said anything, the door opened again. But it wasn't, as Harry had hoped, Hermione.

It was a blond boy. He had a slightly pompous air about him, but right now he looked kind of nervous.

"Is there room? Can I join you guys," asked the boy. "All of the other compartments are full."

"Sure," said Padma.

"Of course," said Parvati.

Harry scooted down on his seat to make more room. "I don't mind."

The boy smiled and climbed in and sat in the seat next to Harry.

When he sat down, the train began to move.

"It's a good thing you got on when you did," said Padma, as she moved to the window, followed by her sister and the boy. Harry figured, by their waving hands, they were saying their final good-bye's to their families.

Harry felt a little awkward being the odd man out. He took his wand out from his pocket and began fiddling with it, just to have something to do.

He was brought out or his thoughts when Parvati called, "Look at that little girl trying to catch the train." Bringing her head back in, she said, "Come on Harry."

Intrigued, Harry went over to the window, squeezed between Padma and the blond boy, and stuck his head out along with the others.

He saw what Parvati was talking about. A little red haired girl was running after the train, which was quickly gaining speed, tears streaming from her eyes. She clearly wanted nothing more than to join them on the way to Hogwarts, and Harry couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her.

He stretched out his hand to wave bye to her, knowing that she couldn't see him, but it made Harry feel better, having someone to wave good-bye to, even if he didn't really. He was out of the Dursley's clutches and was now journeying to a place that practically ran on him using his imagination.

Turning away from the girl when she became out of sight, Harry looked forward, at the landscape the train was rushing toward. It was a cloudless blue sky above them with bright green grass beneath them. The wind was rushing in his face, blowing his hair out of his eyes.

By now Padma and Parvati had returned to their seats and were talking to each other. Harry saw the blond boy looking around like he was. They locked eyes and smiled at each other.

Then the boy's eyes went to Harry's forehead and they widened in shock.

They both brought their heads back inside, but the boy's expression hadn't changed. His mouth had opened slightly and he was shamelessly staring at Harry's forehead.

Thinking that maybe a bug might have splattered there, Harry raised his hand to brush it off, when he felt his scar. 'Damn!' thought Harry. In his excitement to get here, Harry had forgotten to put on Dumbledore's tape. 'Oh well,' thought Harry, 'It's not that hideous of a scar, not for this reaction.'

Harry was about to respond to the staring, when the boy said something, only it was so soft that Harry couldn't hear it.

"What," asked Harry, and he could see that they had gotten the Patil twin's attention.

"Harry," the boy said, and while he was finally looking at Harry's face, it was still odd. "That girl," he said, pointing absent mindedly at the girls, "she called you Harry."

"So?"

And before anything else could be said, the door on the other side of the compartment opened and closed rapidly.

"There you are!" said an excited Hermione, rushing up to Harry and punched him lightly in the arm. "I have been looking for you all over this dang train! Harry, why didn't you tell me? You knew that I hadn't read any of the Dark Arts books, so you knew I didn't know. I wouldn't have cared. I mean, I might have cared, slightly, but not so much that I wouldn't have wanted to be your friend."

"Hermione," cut across Harry, holding his hands up to prevent her from hitting him any further. "What are you talking about?" He was beyond confused already from the boy, and Hermione wasn't making it any easier.

"She's talking about you," the blond boy said.

"I figured that out already, thanks. But I don't know what she's babbling about me 'knowing' and 'not telling her'. Not knowing what? Not telling her what?"

"You really don't know?" asked Hermione.

"No," said Harry, becoming annoyed.

"You don't know," said the boy and it wasn't a question.

"No!" said Harry. It was if he were on the playground and Dudley had said something awful about Harry, but everybody was refusing to let him in on the secret.

"Don't know what?" asked Padma.

"I don't know!" Harry slightly shouted, which he instantly regretted doing when he saw the shocked look on the twins' faces.

But before Harry could apologize, the compartment door opened again reveling a tall red haired boy with horn-rimmed glasses, already dressed in his Hogwarts robes with a gold badge that had a big 'P' on it pinned to them. Behind him Harry could see a small crowd forming.

"What is going on in here? We have just left the station, and you are already arguing? What's going on here?" asked the boy again, his face completely serious.

When nobody answered, the red haired boy said, even more firmly, "I am a school prefect. You will tell me. What is going on here?" he asked again, getting a little impatient.

"What's going on," the blond haired boy said, standing up straight, "is that Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."

* * *

Dumbledore's letter to Harry, with the exception of the word birthday, is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American edition, Pg. 202

The first conversation, or at least about 70 percent, between Harry and Uncle Vernon is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American edition, Pg. 89-90

The second conversation between Harry and Uncle Vernon is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American edition, Pg. 90-91

The description of platform nine and three-quarters is from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, American edition, Pg. 93-94

So, who's the blond boy? Any guesses, people. And what will the reaction of the train be when people realize that Harry Potter is with them? I don't know. I just write the damn things.

I debated with myself as to whether I should give Harry Hedwig. I compromised with myself by giving her a different name, because Harry has more books than he does in canon, so he had more options.

Later.


	8. The Boy Who Lived

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By HarryDude85

I don't own any of the characters.

Keeping all of your suggestions close, here we go again.

* * *

There was silence. Nobody said anything. The only sounds that could be heard were the rumbling of the train and the far off chatter of the people who hadn't heard the blond boy's statement.

Harry saw that every eye was fixated on him. He just stood there, trying to make himself less visible and failing miserably (he wished he didn't have his father's invisibility cloak in his trunk) and trying to understand why he had this kind of impact.

Finally, a black girl who had peaked around the door way broke the silence by softly asking, "Are you really Harry Potter."

Harry could tell that this was the question the crowd was waiting for, that it was longing to hear the answer to. Even the stern prefect couldn't hide the look of intense anticipation from his face.

"Yes, but," whatever else he was going to say was drowned out by the explosion of talking.

"Wicked!"

"Oh my god! I can't believe it's him.

"My sister is going to be _so_ jealous."

"Can you see his scar?"

"Yeah, like lightning."

"Do you think he remembers You-Know-Who?"

Harry just stared. He didn't know what to say, but luckily, the prefect was able to help.

"Alright people, move on. Back to your seats! He may be Harry Potter, but he is also a student and a person, so give him some room."

Slowly, the hallway thinned and the only people left in the compartment were Harry, Hermione, Padma, Parvati, the blond boy, and the red haired prefect.

"There now," the prefect said, "They seemed to have gone." He turned to Harry, stuck out his hand and said, "It is a real honor to meet you, Harry. I'm Percy Weasley," in such a manor that Harry thought Percy thought he was meeting the prime minister, not an 11 year old. But Harry shook his hand anyway. "Now I must be off. I have other corridors to inspect. But if anyone gives you a hard time, try and find me." He turned to leave, but before he was gone, turned around and said, "My little sister is a big fan of yours. She won't believe it when I tell her I shook your hand." He closed the door and was gone.

Harry just stared at the door, not believing what just happened. He slowly turned to the other occupants of the car and said, screwing politeness for the moment, "What. The. Bloody Hell! Is going on!!"

The four just looked at him, unsure what to do or say.

Then, "Don't look us," said Padma, indicating her and her sister. "We have as much an idea what that was about as you do,"

"Harry, why don't you sit down," said the boy.

"No. First thing's first." Harry looked at the boy, who tensed up as if he was afraid Harry would punched him, and asked, "What's your name? I mean, everyone in the world seems to know mine, so it's only fair I know yours."

The boy relaxed and said, "My name is Ernie. Ernie MacMillian,"

"Alright. Now, Ernie, would you please answer my question? Why does everyone know me? Why are sisters going to be jealous? Why a do I have fans!?"

Ernie looked at Hermione, the only other person in the car who seemed to know the truth. Hermione than said, "We'll tell you, Harry. But Ernie's right. You are going to want to sit down for this. It's… it's pretty big."

Thinking that was fair, and glad to know that he was finally going to be held what was going on here, Harry started to calm down and he took a seat next to Ernie. Hermione sat across from them next to Padma.

"First, Harry," began Ernie, "do you know about the dark wizard who's name no one likes to say?"

"What, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Yeah, I know about him."

"What do you know, Harry?"

"All I know is that he was an immensely powerful wizard who tried to conquer the country or something not long before I was born. He was eventually defeated, right."

"Yes, Harry," smiled Hermione, although it seemed forced somehow. "He was defeated."

"Alright, Harry," said Ernie. "I'm going go against everything I was brought up believing and tell you the wizards name, but only because you have to know it. But I'm only going to say it once, so listen carefully."

Harry nodded in agreement. Ernie motioned for him to lean forward, so he did, and so did Padma and Parvati. Then, as if he were forcing something horrible from his mouth that he never wanted to taste again, Ernie whispered, "_Voldemort_" and shuddered, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione flinch.

"Voldemort," repeated Harry.

"What did I just say!" asked Ernie, who had just flinched. "Never say that name. Ever."

"Sorry. But what does Vol – I mean, You-Know-Who have to do with me."

Ernie gave Harry an apprehensive look, but continued anyway.

"You see, Harry, You-Know-Who was very powerful. Incredibly powerful. So powerful that even Professor Dumbledore couldn't defeat him, and he is the most powerful wizard the good size has had in 200 years. But he was able to hold him off. They say Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of."

"Anyway, my point is that no one was able to beat him, and he killed some of the most powerful wizards of the time – the Bones', the Prewett's, the McKinnon's – no one was able to stop him."

"Until, that is, Halloween in 1981. You-Know-Who showed up at this married couple's house. They were good people, this couple: young, well liked, had a kid. Nobody knows _why_ he went there, but he did. Hell, he probably just loved killing by that point. He murdered the man and woman, and turns his wand on the baby."

Parvati gasped, the first time anyone in the car made any sound since Ernie started talking. Harry also felt horrified, but for an entirely different reason. He thought he could see where this story was going, and it left an empty pit in his stomach.

"He said the killing curse, Avada Kedavra. That should have been that, right? Another dead, completely innocent family for who know why. There was no reason it shouldn't have worked; the killing curse has never failed to kill its target after all. Never. It took out the mom and dad, so why not a baby?"

"But, instead of killing the baby, the curse rebounded off of him, and hit You-Know-Who instead. And just like that, a war that had gone on for 10 years, a monster that had killed hundreds, thousands, of people, over and gone for reasons nobody knows."

"And the baby was sent to live with his dead mother's muggle sister and her family. And all he had to show for it was a scar on his forehead, the shape of a lightning bolt."

"And that's why you're famous Harry. That's why every body knows your name. I'm pureblood, and I was born around the time this happened, so I have grown up learning this story, so have every other pure and half-blood on this train. It's because you did the impossible, even if you didn't mean to, even if you didn't know how or why it happened, just like the rest of us. It's because you're Harry Potter. You're the Boy-Who-Lived.'

With the end of Ernie's story, the car was dead quiet again. The five of them could still hear the other students through the walls, but in their car, nothing. Just four pairs of eyes watching as Harry looked out the window, but not really paying any attention to what he was seeing.

So. Finally. The truth. The real way his parents died and how he wound up with this scar. He always knew, even before he found out he was a wizard, that the Dursley's story about the car crash wasn't true. It never made sense, when Harry thought about it. And he thought about it a lot. Sometimes, when he was in his cupboard at night or when he was being punished, he would think about the green light he would see in his dreams and how that could possibly have anything to do with a car crash, about what the likely hood for a baby to be in a car crash bad enough to kill his parents, to come away from it only with a scar shaped like a lightning bolt would be and how one could get a scar that small shaped like that way from a car crash.

But after all these years of thinking the truth would be preferable to the lie, he now would have preferred the lie. In a car crash, it would have been an accident, either from his parents or another driver. There would be no malicious intent involved. But now, Harry knows that the most evil and feared wizard of the century hunted and brutally murdered them in front of their son, after killing countless others, and the only reason Harry was still alive was that somehow, the wizard's curse rebounded.

Harry closed his eyes to try and drive the images in his head to go away, but all he saw has the green light he usually saw in his dreams. And this time, from somewhere deep in his mind, as if it was waiting for the right time to make its appearance and decided that time was now, a sinister, heart-stopping laugh joined the light, both getting louder and brighter as time went on, until he snapped his eyes open in a desperate attempt to drive them away.

"Harry!" three voices exclaimed.

He looked around and saw Hermione, Padma, Parvati, and Ernie eating what looked to be candy.

"What?" asked Harry. He looked out the window and saw that the sun and bright blue sky that had been there when he closed his eyes had been replaced with the moon and a dark blue one. "What happened?"

"Well," began Parvati, as if she were afraid that the truth would break him, "after Ernie finished his… story, you looked out the window."

"And we didn't want to disrupt you because you had just learned a lot and it had to be processed," continued Padma, "but when we looked again, you were asleep.'

"Oh," said Harry. "How long was I out?"

"Three hours," answered Hermione.

"We're nearly there," said Ernie. "Look Harry, I'm sorry that you had to find out now and from me. It should have been from someone else like Dumbledore or McGonagall or –"

"From a friend like you," said Harry. "Don't be sorry, Ernie. I needed to know the truth, preferably before we arrived at school. I'm just glad it was from somebody that I could be friends with."

"Well, I'm happy I could help," smiled Ernie.

"Where did you get all of these?" asked Harry, looking at the sweets on the seats.

"A witch pushing a trolley came by," said Hermione. "Ernie paid for it all, even though we all offered."

"A gentleman should always pay when ladies are around," smirked Ernie. "Isn't that right Harry," he asked winking as he tossed a thing of candy at him.

Harry caught it and said, "Yeah. Seems about right."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to the Patil's, "Boy's always think have to show off."

"Speak for yourself," said Parvati as she bit in to a cake shaped like a cauldron. "I was only half serious about paying. I didn't want to pay that much." She smiled to show she wasn't being serious.

Harry laughed, the first laugh since he got on the train, and looked at the candy Ernie threw him. Chocolate Frog, the wrapper said.

Intrigued as well as hungry, Harry unwrapped the sweet. Inside was, as the label promised, a piece of chocolate formed to look like a frog, along with a card.

Eating the frog, Harry looked at the picture on the card. It was of a short, round man, whose blond hair stood out against his small, black eyes, an awkward smile, and a rat like nose. Under his picture was his name: Peter Pettigrew.

Flipping the card over, Harry saw that there was a brief description underneath his dates 'b. April 30th, 1960 – d. November 2nd, 1981'. The description read:

Peter Howard Pettigrew  
Probably one of the youngest and most tragic people to end up  
on a trading card, Pettigrew, known to his friends as Wormtail for  
reasons unknown, was a close friend to James Potter. After James'  
and his wife Lily's murder on the night Harry Potter defeated  
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Pettigrew became inconsolable.  
Maddened by grief, Pettigrew sought out the man responsible  
for their death: The Potter's close friend turned traitor, Sirius Black.  
Black murdered him. He was posthumously awarded  
the Order of Merlin, First Class

Just when Harry thought nothing else could surprise him today, this happened. He just sat and looked at the picture of Pettigrew as scratched his nose and looked around nervously, not really noticing that the picture was moving. His father's friend, murdered by another friend for trying to avenge Harry's father in the first place. How he wished he could say something to the man, about how he was grateful for the sacrifice he made in name of his father, and how he wished he hadn't, so Harry could talk to him about his parents.

"What's up, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing. Just looking at this card," said Harry as he pocketed it.

"Oh yeah, isn't it weird how the pictures in this world move? I'm not used to it," said Parvati.

"Muggle pictures don't move? Weird," said Ernie.

"Yeah," said Hermione. She looked at her watch and exclaimed, "Geez, we're almost there. Quick, we have to change into our robes."

Cleaning up their sweets, everyone quickly pulled out their robes and put them on over their muggle clothes.

The five of them sat a talked for the last few minutes until the Hogwarts Express slowed to a stop.

When the doors to the compartment opened, it was like an avalanche of kids pouring out of the train, taking up all the room on the platform so their was barely space to breathe.

When the crowd started moving Harry said, "What about our stuff?"

"They'll bring it up to your rooms during dinner," on of the older kids said.

"Who's 'they'?" asked Hermione. The kid shrugged and moved up in crowd.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All firs' years come over to me," a loud booming voice called over the din of students.

Harry saw the source of the voice, and decided to get rid of the notion that nothing would surprise him anymore this night, 'cause he just kept being proven wrong.

The man in front of Harry was holding a giant lantern, but that was nothing compared to the size of the man himself. He was easily the biggest man he had ever met. About 10 times Harry's height, he only came up to the man's knees. He had a large beard, sort like Santa Clause's but black and unmanageable. His eyes were black and beady, but they were full of warmth that Harry would never have expected from someone like him.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Me name's Hagrid. I'll take ya up to Hogwarts. Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

The crowd of nervous 11 year olds followed the giant down a steep, narrow path. Harry though that light had ceased to exist, it was so dark. Nobody seemed to want to speak, although Harry thought he heard someone sniffing behind him.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Ooooooh!"

Where the path ended, began a great, black lake. In the lake were many little boats. On the other side of the lake, a giant castle, with many sparkling windows, towers and turrets was on top of a mountain.

"No more'n four to a boat," Hagrid called.

The five of them looked at each other wondering how they would do this.

Harry stepped up and said, "You guys take this boat. I'll take one of the others. It's alright," he said when he saw Hermione was about to interject. "We'll meet back at the castle okay."

With that, the four of them got in one of the empty boats.

Looking around, Harry saw most of the other boats were full. Finally, he saw one boat that had a seat left.

Rushing over to it, he asked, "Can I sit?"

Two of the boys, both hulking and rather muscle bound, looked at the smaller third boy, as if he were their leader. This boy had slicked back blond hair, and a pale face.

"By all means."

Harry quickly got in. After he did, Hagrid shouted, "Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!"

The boats jerked to life and began to move on their own, gliding across the lake.

Harry was taking in the castle and its vastness, but the blond boy only glimpsed at it before looking at Harry. You've seen one castle, you've seen 'em all, he thought.

Harry turned to the other boy's and introduced himself, this time preparing himself for a reaction.

"Hello. I'm Harry Potter."

There was nothing but a smirk from the smaller boy and deep chuckles from the other two.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the boy said. "And these are my friends, Vincent Crabbe," he gestured to the boy with gorilla like arms and a pudding bowl haircut who grunted in greeting, "and this is Gregory Goyle," Draco indicated the other boy, who had short hair, and looked lighter than the other boy, but still as strong.

Draco held his hand out, which Harry took.

"So it's true then, what they were saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."

"Yeah, it's true," said Harry, who was unable to tell what kind of look Draco was giving him in the darkness.

"So, Harry, which house do you think you'll be in?" asked Draco.

"I don't know. I don't know much about the houses other than what I've read in a book I have. I think Gryffindor would be nice, but I don't really have a preference."

'Oh, this is too perfect,' Draco thought.

"Well, I can see why you would want to be in Gryffindor," he said, trying to hide the interest in his voice. "People tend to want to be in the house that their parent's were in. Our parents were all in Slytherin, so that's where we want to go."

This certainly caught Harry's attention. "I didn't know my parents were in Gryffindor. How do you know."

"My parents went here with them," he looked into Harry's eyes and said. "They were both in different years than yours, of course, so they didn't know them that well, but still, I'm sure that if you were to meet them, they would love to tell you everything they knew."

They had reached shore before Harry could say anything. Wanting to meet up with his friends, Harry said to Draco, "I have to catch up to my friends, but can we talk later?"

"Of course," said Draco. And with a gracious wave Harry ran off to find Hermione and the others.

"That was easy," he said to Crabbe and Goyle, who both chuckled before following Malfoy up the stairs with the rest of the first years.

Harry caught up with his friends, who smiled as they joined him.

"Find a friendly boat?" asked Padma.

"Yeah, I did," answered Harry.

"Good."

Before they could say anything else, everyone crowded around Hagrid and the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" he asked a trembling, round face boy, who was holding onto a toad so tight he looked like he might break it in half.

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

* * *

The truth is out there! Quickly followed up by more lies, both deliberate and accidental, and deception. How will Harry respond to what he learned about Pettigrew and Sirius, finally knowing the truth (or at least the non-Dumbledore truth) about his parent's murder, and Draco Malfoy's "pleasant" attitude?

Keep reading to find out. Later.


	9. The Sorting Hat

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By HarryDude85

Again, I don't own the characters, just this unique situation.

A lot of the descriptions of characters and dialogue, with major exceptions, will be ripped directly from the book because, I'm not that creative with descriptions, and I have this thought that a lot of what the staff, excluding Dumbledore, say the same things every year more or less.

* * *

The door swung open at once. Standing in its place was a tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not a woman to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid

So this is Professor McGonagall, thought Harry, who than gulped in nervousness.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She led them into the entrance hall, which was so big you could fit the Dursley's house in it and still have room to spare. There were flame torches on the walls, the ceiling was too high to see, and there was a grand marble staircase facing them that Harry couldn't wait to climb.

But first, Professor McGonagall led the first years pass another pair of giant doors, to a small, empty chamber off the hall. Crowded together, they stood watching Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The star-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witched and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten up as much as you can while you are still waiting."

She glanced at the boy with the toad, whose cloak was fastened wrong, and a red-haired boy, who had dirt on his nose.

Next to him, Hermione was trying to make her hair less bushy. Harry didn't think it was wise to tell her that she was fighting a losing battle.

"How do we get sorted?" a black boy in front of them whispered.

"We put on a hat," answered Ernie. The boy turned to him and, with an eyebrow raised, said, "We put on -" "A hat, that's right," said Ernie calmly. When he saw the confused faces around him, he then added, "You'll see when we get in there."

"What house do you guys want to be in?" asked Padma.

"I've heard Gryffindor is a really good one, but Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad," said Hermione.

"Well, Padma and I want to be in Ravenclaw," said Parvati.

"Well, I want to be in Hufflepuff," said Ernie. "My whole family's been in it since we can remember."

"Well, like Hermione and Parvati, I think Gryffindor and Ravenclaw would be really good, but I don't really care where I go. They all are good," said Harry.

Ernie stared at him before asking, "You want to be in Slytherin?" not believing what he was hearing.

"Well, like I said, I don't really care why I go," said Harry, not sensing the tone in his friend's voice. "Why?"

"Why!" a voice from behind him laughed. "Harry Potter asks why he shouldn't be in Slytherin."

Harry turned around and saw it was the red-haired boy with dirt on his face.

"Don't you know that Slytherin is the evilest of the bunch?" the boy asked incredulously.

"Yeah, but only to those who deserve it, Weasley," a drawling voice the Harry knew said. The crowd of students drew quiet as Draco Malfoy stepped forward, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

The boy named Weasley now glaring daggers at Malfoy. "So, Harry's parents deserved what they got did they? That's what you're saying isn't it?"

"Hey, what do my parents have to do with anything?" Harry didn't care that all eyes were on them at that there was now a circle around the three boys.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, although in the silent chamber, it echoed as loud as a shout. "You-Know-Who went to Hogwarts. He was in Slytherin."

"What?" But before anything else could be said, Professor McGonagall returned and shouted, "What is going on? Break it up children. This is no way to behave on your first day." Harry could tell that he was right about her and that she was dangerous to cross, because right now, she looked like she could breathe fire. Glaring at each other, Malfoy and Weasley went back to their own group of friends.

Calming herself down, but still watching Malfoy, Weasley, and Harry, Professor McGonagall said, "We're ready for you now. Form a line and follow me."

Still thinking about what had just happened, Harry got in line between Parvati and a girl with light brown hair and started walking. He didn't even look around with the other students when they entered the Great Hall.

'Voldemort went to Hogwarts. That makes sense. He was once a child and needed to be taught how to use magic. But what does that mean it mean that he was in Slytherin? Ernie and that Weasley boy – I'm going to have to learn his name – seemed dead set against the house. And then there is Malfoy. He seemed really nice on the boat, but just now… I don't know where I want to go now.'

He was jolted out of his thoughts when he walked into the girl in front of him. The line had stopped moving and was now bunching around the front of the hall.

"Watch it," the girl said, glaring back at him.

"Sorry. I was daydreaming," said Harry. He then got a good look at where he was. The massive hall was full of hundreds of students, all seated at four long tables. The first years were standing in front of another long table full of adults that Harry assumed were teachers. Looking up, instead of seeing the ceiling Harry saw the same dark blue, cloudy sky that was visible out the window. Harry knew that it was enchanted, and not real.

Looking front, Harry saw Professor McGonagall place a four-legged stool with a very old, patched, dirty hat in front of the teachers table.

'This must be the hat Ernie was talking about,' thought Harry.

Just when Harry was wondering how this could possibly sort a couple dozen students, the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth – and the hat began to sing.

It sang about the different houses and what you needed to be in each one. It sang about how when put on a persons head, it could see all of their thoughts, and that was how it decided where to put them.

When it was finished, the hall burst into applause. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Harry sighed in relief. He had been afraid they would have to do some magic, and while he did know some stuff, Harry didn't think unlocking a door would have qualified him for much.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a large scroll of parchment in hand.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blond pigtails stumbled forward out of the bunch, and put on the hat. While it was deciding what to do with her, Harry looked around at the crowd of first years. It put him at ease when he saw that every one of them looked as nervous as Harry did.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw something that looked like floating fat friar wave at her. Harry noticed as "Bones, Susan" went up to the hat, that the friar was transparent. He was a ghost. As "HUFFLEPUFF!" was shouted again, more claps sounded, and "Boot, Terry" went up, Harry looked around the hall again, this time above the tables of students.

When "RAVENCLAW!" was shouted, the table second from the left clapped this time, and Harry saw near where Terry went to sit, the ghost of a beautiful girl, who didn't look that much older than Harry, clapped very composedly, and did so again as "Brocklehurst, Mandy" joined the table right after.

"Brown, Lavender!" the girl next to Harry went up and became the first Gryffindor. The table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry thought he heard some catcalling as well. Harry saw as "Bulstrode, Millicent" became a Slytherin, that the Gryffindor ghost was a tall man, dressed in tights and wearing a ruff, while the Slytherin's had a most unpleasant looking man, who appeared to be a baron of some kind, draped in chains and with great sloshes of silver blood on him.

"Finch-Fletchly, Justin" became a "HUFFLEPUFF!" and "Finnigan, Seamus" became a "GRYFFINDOR!" before:

"Granger, Hermione!"

He heard Hermione gasp. As she made her way past Harry, he patted her on the back in support.

She then ran to the stool and jammed the hat on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Harry clapped hard along with the other Gryffindor's.

Next was "Longbottom, Neville!" the boy with the toad. He was practically trembling as he put the hat on. It seemed to take ages before it shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Malfoy was next. He swaggered forward, and the hat barely touched his head when it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join Crabbe and Goyle, but before he did, he caught eyes with Harry. Harry smiled at him, still not sure what to think about him. Malfoy nodded back in return.

Next came, "MacMillian, Ernie!" Harry gave him a comforting smile, before Ernie went up. And Ernie got his wish, for the hat shouted, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

Beaming, Ernie took it off to sit next to Hannah Abbott.

There were a few more people before Professor McGonagall called "Patil, Padma." Padma squealed. She quickly hugged her sister, who said, "Good luck," gave Harry a thumb's up and went to the stool.

Harry could hear Parvati muttering "Come on, come on, come on" beside him. And when the hat shouted "RAVENCLAW!" Parvati shouted "Yes!" She turned to Harry and said, "We really wanted both of us to go there. Well, here I go," she said when her name was called. "Good luck," she told Harry.

"You too," he called after her.

Knowing that they both wanted this, Harry was waiting with baited breath for the hat to shout "RAVENCLAW!" and for Parvati to smile and go with her sister. But, what the hat ended up shouting was, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table burst into applause, but Harry could see the disappointed look on his friend's face ad she put on a fake smile and went to go sit next to Hermione. Harry looked over at the Ravenclaw table and saw Padma wasn't even clapping: she looked like she was in shock.

But Harry didn't have time to think about this. There was another person after Parvati before, at last –

"Potter, Harry"

The hall was quiet as Harry went up to the stool. He could hear some whispers of, "_The_ Harry Potter" and such before Harry put the hat on.

It was much too big. The sound of the hall vanished as the hat fell over his eyes. Nothing happed for a while, until:

"Well, this is interesting," said a small voice in his ear. "I can't remember the last time this has happened, if ever."

"The last time what happened" Harry thought?

"The last time I encountered a student who fit with all four houses. Hm. You value friendship, even if you have just discovered it, are hardworking and loyal, all important qualities of a Hufflepuff. You are ambitious and, though you may not know it yourself, very cunning. You don't have the pureblood prejudice that most, Slytherin's have, but that doesn't mean you don't belong. There is also some small part about you that practically screams Slytherin, but I can't tell what. You are very bright boy, very clever, who loves to read and learn. The very definition of Ravenclaws. And you have plenty of courage and chivalry to become a fantastic Gryffindor. This is going to be very difficult."

"Can I choose?"

"Yes, but people usually don't. Do you have a preference?"

"Not really, but I just found out something about Slytherin that I'm not to happy about."

"Ah, yes. Well, it is true that I put the person you know as Lord Voldemort in Slytherin. And that has seemed to have clouded your opinion of Slytherin's."

"Not Slytherin's, just the house itself. I mean, how would I be able to sit in the chairs or sleep in the beds knowing that the man who killed my mum and dad sat or slept where I was? I don't know if I could. But that doesn't mean I hate the house, I just have –"

"Reasons too be doubtful. I understand. So, Slytherin is off the table, but that leaves three other houses. I should say though, that you would have done well in Slytherin. Very well."

"Now, while you would do very well in Hufflepuff as well, I can tell that they are other traits of yours that are too overwhelming for you to be placed there. You are very bright and very brave."

"I'm not brave. I couldn't even stand up to my cousin."

"That was because you knew that if you did, you would have been severely punished for it. And while bravery does consist of sometimes fighting the battles you cannot win, it is also comprised of knowing when not to fight, in order to save yourself for another, much more important fight. Yes. I see it now. I see where you belong, as far as Sorting is concerned. But let me just say, before we are separated, just because you may sleep and eat and play and work with one house, does not mean you have to stay solely with them. I see you have friends already in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and wish to become one with someone in Slytherin. Well that would be a very unusual combination, Harry Potter, especially for a GRYFFINDOR!"

The last word the hat shouted out loud, and when he took it off, he saw heard the loudest cheers and most applause yet coming from the Gryffindor table.

* * *

Sorry this one is shorter than the others. If I kept going, it would have been too long, so I just decided to cut the chapter in two. Second part should be arriving soon.

I had a really hard time deciding where to place Harry: Gryffindor or Slytherin. I had plans for either way, I even had some for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw as well, but in the end, good old Gryffindor won out. I just thought the story of an AU Harry being put in Slytherin had been done to death.

But everything won't be the same just because Harry is in Gryffindor. Already his relationships with Malfoy and Dumbledore are different, and he doesn't really know Ron.

That's all I've got. Keep reading.

Later


	10. Home

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By HarryDude85

I don't own any of the characters.

* * *

Harry put the hat back on the stool, gave it a pat, and went to sit next to Neville Longbottom. He shook hands with Percy Weasley, and saw two red-haired twins dancing and singing in their seats, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite Parvati who looked happy to have him with her. Behind him, the ghost in the ruff was floating. He patted Harry on the back, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he had stepped into a shower of ice water.

Harry could now see the High Table of teachers. He saw at the end Hagrid the giant. Hagrid caught his gaze and smiled at him, waving. Harry couldn't help but be relaxed by this, so he waved back. In the middle, sitting in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. While Harry had never met or seen a picture of the man, Harry knew it was him. Who else would be sitting in a gold chair? He also had the look that Harry pictured, after everyone told Harry about him, an old man with long silver hair and beard, but every one could tell that he was young as ever on the inside.

Harry didn't know what to think about Dumbledore. A part of him wanted to like and trust the man, but another part had started to wonder during his last week at the Durlsey's, why did a man who had so much power, allow a boy to be forced to sleep in a cupboard? He knew it was happening, but he didn't do anything about it. Why? And why didn't he tell Harry the truth about his parents?

He forced his conflicting thoughts about Dumbledore down for the moment, and watched Dean Thomas join them come sit next to Parvati and as "Turpin, Lisa" became a Ravenclaw.

Finally, there were only two people left: the red-haired boy who defended Harry and a black boy.

"Weasley, Ronald!" the red-haired boy, looking a nasty shade of green now, stepped to put the hat on.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat.

The table applauded again, Harry included. He could see that Percy was clapping hardest and the twin's who sang for him were pounding the table in celebration. Looking between these three and Ron, who sat down next to Harry, his face now red in excitement, Harry could easily tell that all four were brothers. He flashed back to the little girl he had waved to at Platform Nine and three-quarters, who had red hair and freckles like the brothers.

'How big is this family?' Harry laughed to himself as "Zabini, Blaise" joined his fellow Slytherin's.

Now that the sorting was over, Professor McGonagall took the hat and stool away.

Harry couldn't wait for the feast to start. He had only eaten a few pieces of candy on the train, and he was rapidly regretting it. His stomach felt like it would settle for the silverware if real food wasn't supplied soon.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet, and all chattering that had started after the sorting had ended died away. He was beaming at the students, looking as if there was nothing in the world than the children in front of him.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down, and Harry couldn't help himself from laughing and clapping with the rest of the assembly.

"That was strange," said Harry to Ron.

"Yeah, I've heard that Dumbledore's a bit mad. Brilliant, but mad," replied Ron.

"Drumstick, Harry?" offered Hermione, holding out said drumstick.

Harry had read about the food and how it appeared from no where, but he was still floored when he saw the whole table had vanished from the mountains of food that had besieged it. Food had never looked better than it did now. Everything was glistening and hot, as if they had just been finished.

Harry took the drumstick Hermione offered, and also grabbed a couple spoonfuls of potatoes, carrots, steak, sausages, and fries. And after he had finished that plate, he tried some more.

"If only I could," the ghost in the ruff said.

"Can't you –?"

"No. I don't have to, of course, but one does miss it. Oh," he exclaimed, looking surprised at himself, "how very rude of me. I know all of your names, yet I haven't introduced myself." He cleared his throat very importantly and said, "I am Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. I am the resident ghost of Gryffindor and I am here to help you any way I can."

"He's Nearly Headless Nick to the lazy," one of the Weasley twins said.

"And just Nick to the even lazier," the other one said.

"It is Sir Nicholas de –"

"How are you nearly headless?" Lavender Brown asked. "It's ether on or off, right?"

"You would think, but alas," the ghost said, as he pulled on his left ear and pulled.

Harry looked away as Nick's head came off it was on a hinge. Putting his head on right, Nick said, "I must go off to visit others. Please don't be afraid to ever ask me for help." And he drifted off to the other end of the table.

"Weird," said Harry, turning back to his food. He saw Hermione was in a deep discussion with Percy about lessons, and that Ron was talking passionately about a sport called "Quddith" or something to Dean Thomas, while Dean was talking back about football, but that both Neville and Parvati were rather quite.

Harry knew what was wrong with Parvati, and tried to ask her first before delving into new territory with Neville.

"Hey Parvati," said Harry. She looked up at him. "I know you wanted to be with Padma, but you can't get to down about it. You can still see her every day."

"I know that," Parvati admitted, "It's just this is the first time we are going to be apart in our lives. We've done everything together, and now we won't."

"Just because your in different houses doesn't mean you have to be separate," said Harry. "We can still hang out with her and Ernie."

"I know." She still looked upset, but Harry didn't know what else to say.

Fortunately, Parvati smiled and said, "I'll be fine. This is just something the two of us will have to get used to, is all. Thanks for helping Harry."

"Anytime," said Harry.

When everyone had finished eating, the food disappeared so that not one crumb remained. The next second, the plates were full of desserts.

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk had turned to families.

"I'm muggleborn,' said Hermione. "My parents are both dentist's – Muggle healer's for teeth –" she added when she got a few confused looks, "but they were both very happy that I turned out to be a witch, but also disappointed. They were looking forward to me becoming a dentist as well. Well, no offence to them, but dentistry is rather boring, so I was really glad this happened."

"I'm pureblood," said Ron. "My whole family is."

"How big is your family?" asked Seamus. "It's you and your three brothers here. And that was your little sister running after the train, right."

Ron's face was now pink. "Yeah, Ginny. She will be starting next year, but has wanted to go since our eldest brother Bill went."

"So you have five siblings?" asked Parvati.

"Six. My brother Charlie is between Bill and Percy. Fred and George are next," he said, indicating the twins, who were making a group of people laugh uproariously, one of them so much she started to choke on a piece of apple pie.

"What about you, Neville," Harry asked, wanting him to be in the conversation.

Neville was even pinker than Ron. "Pureblood, but I have been so non-magic my family thought I was a squib. It wasn't until my Great Uncle Algie threw me out a window and I bounced that they knew I wasn't a disappointment after all."

"I'm muggleborn, I guess," Dean said.

"What do you mean, 'You guess'" Fred or George asked, Harry couldn't tell which, having overheard the conversation. "How do you not know?"

"Well, I know my mum is a Muggle, but I was raised by my step-dad. I never knew my real dad, he left soon after he got my mom pregnant with me. So I guess he could have been a wizard."

"I don't know about me either," Harry said. "I know my mum was muggleborn, because I was raised by her sister and she and her family are the very definition of Muggles, but I don't know anything about my dad's family."

"Your dad was a pureblood," said the other Weasley twin. "Everyone in our world knows that. So I guess you're a half-blood."

"Does any of this mean anything?" Lavender asked. "'Pureblood', 'half-blood', 'muggleborn' – does being muggleborn make you any less capable than a pureblood?"

"Not at all," said Neville, surprising Harry. He thought Neville had finished talking and would have just sat there for the rest of the night. But Harry saw a look in Neville's eyes that told Harry that this was something he truly believed. "I'm pureblood, and I've known muggleborns who could do magic years before me. All of this 'pureblood is superior' nonsense is just something the Slytherin's like to rub in people's faces."

Before anybody could say anything to this statement, the desserts had vanished like the dinner before it and once again, Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."

As Dumbledore was talking, Harry couldn't help but get a better look at the teachers surrounding him. He saw Professor McGonagall directly to his left, sitting next to the woman Harry had seen at the Leaky Cauldron. Next to her, was a younger looking teacher whose eye kept twitching. He was wearing a ridiculous looking purple turban. All of these teachers were watching Dumbledore.

All except one, whose eyes were searching the crowd. Harry watched this man. He had greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin. He seemed to be looking for someone.

Then, the man's eyes found Harry's. He had black eyes like Hagrid's, but instead of the comforting warmth within the giant's, this man seemed to be nothing but cold, hard hatred. He didn't know why, but Harry couldn't look away from the man, who seemed fascinated with Harry, yet revolted at the same time.

The man gave Harry one last sneer before looking up to here the Headmaster.

Feeling totally confused, Harry turned to ask someone who he was, but forgot Dumbledore was still talking.

Listening in, Dumbledore said, "And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

No body laughed at this. Harry couldn't tell if he was the brilliant side of Dumbledore talking or the mad side that everyone kept mentioning.

"And now that everything of importance has been said, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Harry turned to ask someone, preferably Percy since he seemed to know a lot, but everyone was starting to move toward the door and Percy was now at the head of the first years saying, "Alright everyone, follow me. Keep up and try to remember where you're going."

As the Gryffindor first years were filing out of the Great Hall and heading towards the staircase, the Slytherin first years were exiting next to them, going down one of the hallways. Harry saw Draco Malfoy.

He remembered what Draco had said to Ron, that he only picked on people that deserved it. Who deserved to be picked on? That was one of the reasons Dudley gave when ever some one stood up to him for beating up Harry. 'He deserved it.'

But Harry also remembered how nice Draco had been on the boat over and that the Sorting Hat told him that it was a good idea trying to be friends with a Slytherin.

He didn't know which way he wanted to go with Draco: to try and become friends with him, or break all ties with him and become enemies.

His thoughts on Draco were interrupted when they encountered Peeves the poltergeist.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," said Percy after he drove Peeves away. "He loves causing chaos. The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

They stopped at the end of a corridor in front of a huge portrait of a very fat woman in pink.

"Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy and the portrait swung open to reveal a hole in the wall. The hole led to a very cozy looking space with a fireplace surrounded by big, comfy chairs and tables all over the room. There were windows that looked out to the beautiful surrounding mountains. On either side of the fire place was a staircase: one that led to the girl's dormitories and one that led to the boys.

After wishing the girls a good night, and promising Hermione and Parvati that they would go to breakfast tomorrow together, Harry followed Ron up the spiral staircase.

Each boy found there stuff at a bed, so choosing who got which bed wasn't a factor.

"Good food, isn't it?" Ron asked the room, who all muttered back positive responses. "Get off, Scabbers!" Harry looked and saw Ron was talking to his pet rat. It was a fat rat, who looked like it had seen better days, with a tattered ear and a toe missing from one of his paws. "He's chewing my sheets."

Harry was too tired to say anything, so, after taking his glasses off he went to sleep, thinking 'At last, I'm home,' before drifting off.

* * *

If you think that so far the story has been rather close too canon, with only a couple of tweaks, the next few chapters will make you feel better. Now it will get complicated. And, in a few chapters, Harry has his talk with Dumbledore that will really change things.

Also, I'm trying to make this as British as possible. That's why you see 'mum' not 'mom' and 'football' not 'soccer'. If that's to annoying, or if I butcher it completely, than I'll just go back to using American lingo.

Later.


	11. First Breakfast

In the Cupboard

In the Cupboard

By HarryDude85

I don't own the characters.

* * *

When Harry woke the next morning, he couldn't wait for his classes to start.

He got dressed in a hurry and put all of his school books, parchment, ink and some quills in his bag, put his wand in one of his pockets and headed down to the common room to wait for Hermione and Parvati.

Seeing that a few of the older students were already in the common room, Harry said good morning to them and sat down to wait. He could feel the students watching him, as if waiting for him to do something.

Not comfortable just sitting there being watched, Harry pulled out one of his school books, not caring which one, and started to read.

It was a few minutes before someone Harry knew descended from one of the staircases. Neville Longbottom appeared looking rather apprehensive.

"Morning, Neville," said Harry.

"Oh, good morning Harry," said Neville. "Aren't you going down for breakfast?"

"Yes, but I told Hermione and Parvati that I would go down with them."

"Oh," said Neville. Then, "Do you mind if I join you? I don't want to go by myself."

"Sure. I'll have to ask the girls, but I doubt they'll say no," said Harry, glad to see that Neville was trying to get over his nerves.

"What are you reading?" asked Neville as he sat down on the couch.

"Our potions book. I just wanted to have something to do, you know. I didn't want to just sit here having people look at me," said Harry.

"Are people watching you?" asked Neville, looking around to see that the few other people in the common room were staring at Harry. "I guess they're just not used to you being a person and not just a story."

"Then they're just going to have to get used to it," said Harry. Wanting to get on a more comfortable subject, Harry said, "So tell me about yourself, Neville. What do like doing? What do your parents do?"

Harry could instantly tell that he had said the wrong thing. At the mention of his parents, Neville became very quiet and avoided Harry's eyes at all costs.

"What did I do?" Harry asked, very concerned. "Whatever it was, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," said Neville, although his voice seemed to be hollow and he still wouldn't look at Harry, preferring to play with one of the tassels on the couch. "You didn't know."

"Is it about your parents?" whispered Harry, not wanting anyone to overhear.

Neville just nodded very small.

"I know what it's like, Neville. My parents are dead too, remember. When did they die?"

Before Neville could say anything, Hermione and Parvati came down the stairs. They were followed by Lavender Brown.

"Morning, Harry. Morning, Neville. Ready to start classes," said Parvati brightly. But Hermione could see that Neville was upset about something and asked, "Are you alright Neville."

"I'm fine," Neville said quickly, standing up awkwardly. "Should we head down? I mean, if it's alright for me to join you. Harry said that I could, but told me I would have to ask you guys."

"Of course you can," said Hermione.

"And Lavender will be joining us as well," said Parvati.

Lavender smiled and said, "I didn't want to go down by myself."

"Well, why are we just standing here?" asked Harry. "Let's go."

As the five first years left the common room, Harry found himself marveling at how far he had come in such a short amount of time. 'Yesterday I was a scared lonely kid. Now I'm walking down to a full breakfast with four friends. I really think I'm going to like it here.'

Harry spent the walk to the Great Hall chatting with Lavender Brown, having not gotten a chance to speak to her at dinner. Hermione and Parvati were talking ahead of them, bringing Neville in on the conversations, trying to not make him the odd man out.

When the group entered the Great Hall, Harry noticed that the ceiling was now covered in a bright blue sky full of fluffy white clouds. As they sat down at the Gryffindor table, Harry saw Ernie wave at them from the Hufflepuff table.

Harry waved back, before helping himself to some waffles and toast.

"So when do we you think we'll get our course schedules?" asked Parvati.

"Probably sometime this morning," said Hermione.

"Do you think we'll all have the same classes?" asked Neville.

"I think so. Were all first years, so we all probably take the same courses in the beginning," said Lavender.

"Morning, Parvati," said Padma, who had just come over from the Ravenclaw table.

"Padma!" Parvati squealed, hugging her sister when she sat down. "I'm so upset that we aren't in the same house."

"I was too, at first," admitted Padma. "But maybe it's a good thing."

"What do you mean?" asked Parvati.

"Well, this way we get to do our own things, you know. Make our own friends and find out we like to do separately, not just what we like to do together."

"That's a very smart way at looking at this," said Hermione impressed. "No wonder you're in Ravenclaw."

"Thanks," said Padma, before looking back at her sister. "We can still do things together, but now we can do things with out each other. You know what I mean."

"Yeah," said Parvati. "I do. I guess I never thought of it that way." Looking unsurely at Padma, she than said, "Are you sure we will be able to hang out like we did before? It will be harder now, since we're in different houses."

"Yes, I'm sure. And about that, I asked a Ravenclaw prefect if we were allowed to have friends from other houses come over, and she said that it was perfectly fine."

"Cool!" said Parvati, really excited now.

Padma looked at the rest of her friends and said, "That doesn't apply to just her, you know. You all have to come by as well. I'm going to see Ernie and tell him the same."

"Thanks, Padma," said Harry. "But we're going to need directions to your common room and your password if we have any hope at getting in."

"Password? We don't use passwords," said Padma.

"What do you use?" asked Neville.

"Our door asks us riddles. If we answer wrong, we have to wait for some body else to come and give the right answer, so that way we learn."

"That's kind of complicated," said Lavender.

Padma shrugged. "That's Ravenclaw. Look, I've got to go. I'll see you guys later." With a final good-bye, Padma left.

"Feel better?" Harry asked Parvati.

"Much," she smiled before continuing eating and getting into a conversation with Lavender.

By now, Ron, Dean, and Seamus had joined them. 'The three of them seem to be getting along rather well,' thought Harry.

And then Harry saw Draco Malfoy enter with Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy looked around the hall before going over to the Slytherin table.

Thinking this was the best opportunity to get to speak to Malfoy, Harry excused himself.

"Where are you going, Harry? Classes will be starting soon," a surprised Hermione said.

"I know, and I'll be back. There's just something I want to do first," said Harry as he made his way for the Slytherin table.

Malfoy had his back to Harry, so he couldn't see his approach, but Crabbe was sitting across from him and could see Harry coming. He nudged Malfoy and gestured in Harry's direction.

Looking up, Malfoy saw Harry and, turning back to his friends, said, "This should be good."

Harry sat next to Malfoy and said, "Good morning, Draco."

"Morning, Harry," said Malfoy.

"Congratulations on making Slytherin. I remember you said that it's where you wanted to go," said Harry.

"It is. It's really the only place I would have gone," said Malfoy rather smugly. "I mean, if the hat had tried to put me somewhere else, no offence to you, but I might have just left."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Because Hufflepuff's a bunch of duffer, Ravenclaw has the bookworms and Gryffindor's tend to think with their muscles, not there brains," said Malfoy. "At least that's what I've been told."

"Oh," said Harry, not knowing what to say to that. Then, "Well, if it makes you feel better, I was almost out in Slytherin." Harry decided to keep the fact that he was almost chosen for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw to himself.

This peaked Malfoy's interest.

"Really?" he drawled. "The famous Harry Potter in Slytherin? How could that have happened?'

"Well, the hat told me I had traits for the house. It told me I was cunning and ambitious, which were very key parts of being a Slytherin."

"So how did you wind up in Gryffindor, home of the brainless wonders?" asked Malfoy.

"I just found out that Voldemort," Malfoy and surrounding Slytherin's flinched. "I'm sorry, I found out that You-Know-Who was in Slytherin, and I didn't know if I could stand being in the same house that he was in."

"I see," said Malfoy, who looked to be thinking rather hard rather fast. In that moment Draco Malfoy had come to the decision that in order to gain Harry Potter's trust, he was going to have to fight off his natural instincts and not harass the people who deserved to be stepped on. And there were a lot of mudblood's in the Great Hall who needed to be stepped on. But Harry seemed to be close to some of them, so that might not come off great. Finally, he said "Well, just because one guy was a bastard doesn't mean the rest of us are. None of us here would go on a killing spree or anything, right," he said to Crabbe and Goyle, who had been watching the conversation with mouths open dumbly. When Malfoy glared at them, they responded with positive grunts.

"See," said Malfoy, as if proving his point. "We're not all bad. Sure there are some rotten apples among us, but there's always one in every family."

Harry laughed thinking about the three rotten apples he has for a family. "I guess you're right. Sorry for doubting you guys," said Harry.

"Not a problem. It's understandable for you to think that after what you found out," Malfoy said, trying to sound sincere and understanding.

"So are we good? Are we still friends?" Harry didn't want to alienate Draco just because he was in Slytherin.

"Of course," said Malfoy, sounding as friendly as possible. "Just because we wear different colors, doesn't mean we have to hate each other."

"That's great!" said Harry. He saw Parvati waving at him, turned and saw her pointing at her watch. "Oops. Look, Draco, I've got to go. Class and all."

"Of course," said Draco. "Don't want to get detention on the first day."

Harry smiled, got up, said to his friend and said, "I'll see you later." Draco nodded in answer, and Harry left to join his friends.

Malfoy turned to Crabbe and Goyle and said, "Hogwarts is going to be fun with suckers like that around."

As Harry was walking back to his friends, he had a strange feeling, as if someone was watching him. Trying to see if anybody was looking at him, Harry once again caught eyes with the hooked-nosed professor who sneered at Harry last night. Now, however, he was giving Harry of look as if he were a giant puzzle the man couldn't figure out.

A little freaked out, Harry ran to join Hermione and Pavarti up the marble staircase.

"Where did everyone else go?" asked Harry as he caught up to his friends.

"They had already left. We wanted to wait for you," said Hermione.

"Wow, that's really nice guys. Thanks," said a grateful Harry.

"It's what friends do Harry," said Parvati. "You don't have to thank us."

"I know, but still," said Harry. "I have no idea what or where our first class is, so if you hadn't waited, I would be in trouble."

"Well," said Hermione, "if we keep walking this slow, we will still be late and still be in trouble. Let's go."

The three rushed off to their first ever Hogwarts lessons together.

* * *

Sorry it's taken me longer than usual to update. I had a hard time trying to figure out what all the different conversations were going to consist of, so that took up most of my time. Plus I had another story, _Heads of House_, I was working on.

Not much else to say except keep reading.

Later.


	12. The First Week

In the Cupboard

By HarryDude85

I don't own the characters.

* * *

Harry hadn't noticed it on the way down to breakfast because he was surrounded by friends, but now that he was just with Hermione and Parvati, Harry noticed that people were watching him and whispering things about him.

"There, look."

"Where?"

"With the Indian girl and the girl with a lot of hair."

"Wearing the glasses?

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

This went on all day. And while nobody was able to disturb his day, it got old rather fast. But he was too fascinated with the castle and his classes to care much.

The castle had so many twists and turns, so many secret passageways and trick doorways, Harry thought he would be a fifth year before he figured it all out.

Harry quickly discovered the classes he loved, the classes he hated, and the classes that lay somewhere in the middle

He really liked Charms. It was taught by a tiny, cheerful teacher, Professor Flitwick. Harry really like this class, because here he got to do what he always thought magic was supposed to be about: making things fly, making normal objects like tea pots and pineapples do things they would never do otherwise, like tap dance.

The only thing Harry didn't really care about in that class was when Professor Flitwick was doing a roll call, when he got to Harry's name, he gave an excited squeak and fell off the pile of books he was standing on so that everyone could see him.

He also enjoyed Transfiguation. That was almost as exciting as Charms. It opened up with Professor McGonagall transforming her desk into a pig and back.

Harry was right about her being someone not to cross. She then launched into a speech about how if anybody messed around in her class, they would be gone and not coming back.

At least Harry was one of the few people, along with Hermione, who was able to do anything with the match he was supposed to turn into a needle. He had made it much harder and there was a hole on the end of it, like needles have. She gave the two of them 10 points to Gryffindor each and smiles, which Harry soon discovered were quite rare.

He liked Herbology and Astronomy, but they weren't really his cup of tea. He enjoyed learning about he different plants and planets, he just wasn't enthusiastic as others were. He still made sure to do well in them, though.

History of Magic, on the other hand, was the one class that everyone in the school agreed on: it was the dullest, most boring class on the list. Professor Binns, the only ghost teacher, was such a bore, it was a battle with Harry's eyes to keep them open every class, and not let himself fall asleep, as was the result with Harry's fellow Gryffindor's, with the exception of Hermione.

Harry quickly noticed that although he was one of the bests of the class, Hermione was better. While Harry had a passion and appreciation of reading and studying, Hermione almost had a kind of superpower. Everything she read seemed to permanently stay with her, assuring her that she got 100's on every homework, quiz, and test.

The two classes that Harry hated most, however, took place on the same day.

On Friday, along with having Charms and Herbology, Harry had his last new classes: Potions followed directly by Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Harry was looking forward to both, as he had read extensively all the books he had purchased for the classes.

Everything went fine in Potions at first. He was enjoying himself, talking to his the other Gryffindor's and even nodding and smiling hello toward Malfoy, as Gryffindor's shared Potions with the Slytherin's. He thought it would be a fun class.

But then the door opened.

In came the hooked-nosed teacher that had been watching Harry at the sorting feast and at Harry's first breakfast. Immediately he told everyone to "sit down and shut up."

Fist thing he did was wave his wand and his name appeared on the chalkboard in front of the class.

"Professor S. Snape"

Snape than began, like every other teacher, reading off names in a roll call. And, like Flitwick did before him, he stopped at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."

He finished the roll call and looked around at the class. His eyes were as cold and dark as they were when Harry first saw them at the sorting feast.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potions making," he began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly shimmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the minds, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this speech. Harry and Parvati exchanged looks with raised eyebrows, while Hermione looked eager to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry stared blankly for a second, barely registering Hermione's hand shooting in the air, wondering why Snape had called him out for the second time in less then five minutes, before he remembered what he had read from his summer reading.

"I believe you would get the Draught of Living Death, sir. It's a sleeping so powerful it puts you into a death like sleep," said Harry.

Snape's eyebrows were raised, as if he was actually surprised that Harry had gotten the right answer.

"I suppose you would know more than anyone about getting lucky breaks, Potter," sneered Snape, before he continued. "Let's see if lightning strikes twice. Where would you look, Potter, if I told you to find me a bezoar and what does it do?"

"A bezoar, sir, is found in the stomach of a goat and will cure anybody of most poisons," said Harry.

Snape looked furious. He than said, failing to keep anger from his voice, "What, Potter, is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane!?'

Ignoring Hermione's hand once again, Harry said, remembering the text from _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, "Aren't they the same, Professor?"

Snape looked severely upset, as if he just missed a chance to make Harry look bad and instead, he made him look even better.

Sure enough, a few people looked kind of impressed that Harry was able to answer their obviously furious teacher. They were all Gryffindor's, Snape noticed with satisfaction. None of his Slytherin's would allow themselves to be impressed with Harry Potter.

Snape flicked his wand again and the chalkboard was filled this time with instructions.

"Turn to page 16 in your textbook," snapped Snape. "You will all sit quietly and make the potion described there. Follow the instructions on the board. When you are finished, hand it in to me."

The rest of the class was rather subdued. Everyone made there potions and handed them in, and when class ended, Harry rushed out with the rest of the Gryffindor's.

"Is it just me," said Harry to Hermione and Parvati, "or does Snape hate me?"

"It's not just you," said Parvati. "That man gives me the creeps."

"We'll talk about this later," said Hermione. "We don't want to be late to Defense Against the Dark Arts."

It turns out, however, that being late would have been better than showing up at all.

Everyone had been looking forward to the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but it turned out to be a big joke.

Professor Quirrell seemed to be afraid of just about everything. He had a terrible twitch in his right eye and he kept stuttering and stammering. His classroom smelled like garlic and he looked absolutely ridiculous in his big purple turban, which he said was from an African village he saved from a zombie and that they gave him the turban in thanks. But when asked how he defeated the zombie, he turned pale and changed the subject.

"Y-your goal t-th-this year is to l-l-learn the fundamental b-basics in how t-t-to protect yourselves from t-t-those who wish to h-harm you," Quirrell looked he was going to faint at the mere thought of danger. "This includes w-w-what items repel d-d-dangerous creatures and how to r-r-recognize d-d-dangerous wizards."

Quirrell turned and waved his wand at the chalkboard. While Harry absentmindedly copied what was appearing on the board, his eyes lingered to Quirrell.

He was wringing his hands in nervousness. What he had to be afraid of in a class full of eleven year olds, Harry didn't know. When Quirrell saw Harry looking at him, the professor gave a half-smile before turning to walk to his desk.

When he turned, Harry caught a full view of Quirrell's turban – and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped his hand to his head.

"What's wrong, Harry," asked Dean, who was at his right. Professor Quirrell had set them in two rows of four in alphabetical order, so Harry was surrounded by Parvati and Dean.

"N-nothing." The whole class was looking at him, because it had been silent before his outburst.

Professor Quirrell was giving him a much different look now. He was now staring at Harry with utmost curiosity, trying to figure out what had happened. He than smiled and said, "Are you alright, P-P-Potter? D-D-Do you need to g-go to the Hospital W-W-Wing?"

"No, professor. I'm fine." And he was. The pain had gone as quickly as it had come.

When class had been dismissed, Hermione and Parvati walked with Harry back to the common room.

"What was that Harry?" asked a worried Hermione.

"I don't know," said Harry. "I was fine but then I got a good, clear view of Quirrell's turban and my scar burned."

"Has it happened before?" asked Parvati.

"No. This was the first time my scar has done anything more than just sit there," said Harry.

"Maybe you _should_ go to the Hospital Wing," suggested Hermione. "Whatever it was, it wasn't normal."

"I don't want to spend my first night in the Hospital Wing," said Harry. "Besides, it's fine now."

"Well, if you're sure," said an uncertain Parvati. When the trio reached the seventh floor, Parvati said, "Look, I'm going to go visit Padma. Do you guys want to come with?"

"I'd love too, but I want to get started on our homework," said Hermione.

"Yeah, I figure I should do the Potions homework as soon as possible," said Harry. "Don't want to give Snape another reason to snap at me."

Saying goodnight to Parvati, Harry and Hermione walked the rest of the way to Gryffindor tower by themselves.

"So, what are your favorite subjects, Harry?" said Hermione.

"Oh, well, I guess I like Charms and Trasfiguration the best," said Harry. "You?"

"The same, but I also really like Astronomy. I know that it's horribly cliché, but being able to look out at all that is out there really makes everything here look insignificant, you know hat I mean?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I guess."

"Do you not looking up at the stars?" asked Hermione.

"I do, but I just discovered my life here, and I want to figure it out before I start thinking it doesn't matter," said Harry.

"Oh, I didn't mean it to come out like that," said a horrified Hermione. "Of course our lives matter to us and to those around us, but, I just meant, what ever happens here, it doesn't effect what happens out there. You do understand that, right?"

"Yeah, I get it. Sorry I sounded overdramatic there," said Harry. They had finally reached the Fat Lady.

"Caput Draconis," said Hermione. The portrait swung open and they climbed in.

"Hey Harry, Hermione," someone called as they entered the common room. It was Ron. He was calling them over. He was playing what looked like chess with Dean in front of the fireplace. "Want to play me? This match should be over pretty soon."

"Sorry, but we need to do our home work," said Hermione.

"Yeah, sorry Ron," said Harry.

Two hours later, Harry and Hermione were locked in a very intense match with each other, books forgotten, with Ron giving tips to Harry and Dean to Hermione.

"Move your rook here." Ron indicated the spot he was referring to. "That way her queen will have to move, making her king wide open."

Sure enough, when Harry moved his rook, Hermione moved her queen. She only realized her mistake when Harry moved forward and said, "Checkmate."

"No! how did that happen!?" she glared at Dean. "You! Gave me bad suggestions!"

"Hey, it's not my fault that Ron's a better player than me," Dean protested. "Choose him nest time."

"So," said Harry, a cheeky grin on his face, "that makes how many losses for you? Three? Four? Oh no, that's right, seven?"

"Oh, shut it, Harry Potter," glared Hermione, the intenseness she tried to exude failing with her smile. "And you too, Ronald Weasley," she shot at the red-head who was laughing at her loss.

"Why should I," said Ron, still laughing.

"Because I said so, ickle Ronnikinns," said Hermione, using the name that Fred and George had amusingly dubbed their little brother.

"Don't call me that," said Ron, cheeks red.

"Calm down everyone," said Harry, playing referee for the two. "It's just a game."

Grabbing Hermione's arm, he said to her, "Don't you have homework to do?"

She gasped. "Oh my, your right! I got so caught up in the game, I forgot."

She picked up her bag and said, "I'm going to go work in bed. See you in the morning." And she was gone.

"Mental that one, I'm telling you," Ron said to Dean.

"I better get started on that Potions work," said Harry. He picked up his stuff, and, following Hermione's lead, decided to work in his bed.

Wishing his friends good night, Harry went up stairs, but not before he heard Ron say, "They're both mental."

Harry, however, didn't really feel like working. He lay in his bed, homework forgotten. While it was important to get the assignment, done, Harry had two days to do it before his next Potions class. Instead, he wanted to read his letter again.

Every time Harry had nothing to do, Harry passed the time by re-reading the letter Dumbledore had sent along with his Hogwarts letter. It was the first ever letter that was sent to him, and it was full of advice that without which Harry wouldn't be here right now, lying in a bed in a castle of witches and wizards.

More important to Harry, it was full of care for Harry, the kind of care that Harry was not used to from the Dursley's. Whatever mixed feelings about Dumbledore may have, he couldn't get rid of the feeling of happiness he felt every time he read the letter.

An amazing thing about Dumbeldore's letter, Harry thought as he pulled it out from his trunk, was that every time Harry read it, he noticed something he hadn't before. Something, that while he had read it before, only just grasped or realized the next time he sat down to read. Like the last time, Harry had spent a good few minutes trying to figure out what might happen if he double-crossed a goblin.

So, Harry read the letter. It was as warm and helpful as it always been. But somewhere along the middle of the page, something stuck out. Harry noticed something that he hadn't before, but this time, it left Harry full of nothing but dread and questions. It was a single sentence, but that sentence left Harry with a feeling of uneasiness in his stomach. The sentence read: "A few more things before I leave you to contemplate in your cupboard what this all means."

Leave you to contemplate in your cupboard.

Leave you in your cupboard.

In your cupboard.

Harry had known that Dumbledore was aware of his treatment at the Dursley's. The fact that his letter was addressed to "The Cupboard Under the Stairs" could attest to that.

But re-reading the letter, Harry couldn't help but think that Dumbledore was rubbing it in his face, that Harry had such a lousy childhood. That line made it seem like it was something that Harry should be able to laugh about, a child living in squalor while his pig of a cousin got every thing handed to him, no questions asked.

A fury that Harry could never remember experiencing before coursed through him. He looked at the bottom of the letter, where Dumbledore had practically opened his door to him, giving Harry his location and even his password, Sugar Quill.

Harry jumped from his bed, shoved the letter in the pocket of his robes and headed for the door, with every intention of giving Dumbledore a piece of his mind, when Harry looked out the window.

It was pitch black outside. Harry looked at the clock next to his bed and saw that it read nine thirty-seven. And while people may still be up in the common room, it was much too late to go wandering around the castle.

Defeated, Harry settled for going down to Dumbledore first thing in the morning.

He collapsed in his bed, his Potions book falling to the floor. Harry was still full of anger and wanted more than anything to go confront the headmaster.

_If only there was some way to sneak out without anyone noticing_, thought Harry. _Then I could go to Dumbledore as long as I want._

He was just about to fall a sleep, his anger waning in from tiredness, when an idea shot through his head.

_The invisibility cloak!_

Harry leaped from his bed, opened his trunk and pulled out the long, flowing cloak that had once been his fathers.

With this on, he would be able to see Dumbledore without anybody knowing.

Quickly, Harry arranged some pillows to make it look like he was actually sleeping, than closed his curtains, hoping that his dormitory mates would think he was sleeping.

He made sure the letter was still in his pocket threw the cloak around himself. When he through it on, he heard something hit the wood floor.

Looking down, Harry saw that it was the Chocolate Frog card of Peter Pettigrew. It must have been on top of his invisibility cloak.

Deciding he could ask Dumbledore about him as well, Harry put the card in his other pocket, secured the cloak around himself and left the dormitory.

* * *

Here it comes. The promised Harry/Dumbledore talk. This should really shake things up. A lot, and I mean _a lot,_ will be revealed that shouldn't be revealed this early. But that's the beauty of the AU. You can screw things up, and nobody can complain. Much.

I borrowed Snape's opening speech straight from the book because it was too important of a scene to just chop up.

Keep reading and reviewing please.

Later.


	13. Stories

In the Cupboard

By HarryDude85

I don't own the characters.

* * *

Harry slipped down the staircase, careful not to make a sound. Just because nobody could see him that didn't mean they couldn't hear him.

He quietly entered the common room. It was still rather full. A lot of older students were doing homework around the room and Ron had finally given up playing chess in favor of actually doing some work.

Harry crept toward the portrait hole, knowing that when he opened it, someone will notice. He had to be fast about it.

Harry was up to the portrait now. Taking a deep breath, he quickly pushed it open, jumped out, and pushed it closed. He had thought that he heard someone say, "Did you just see that?" when the portrait closed.

"Hey! Who's there?" asked the Fat Lady, who was searching up and down the hallway for the person who had just opened her, but not finding anyone. Chalking it up to just some kids goofing around with her, she grumbled, "Damn twins."

Not believing his luck, Harry hurried down the corridor and then down the staircase, careful to make sure his feet weren't making any noise. He met a few teachers who were patrolling the corridors, searching for rule breakers, but Harry patiently waited until they were out of sight before continuing.

Finally, Harry had reached the second floor. Now all he had to do was find the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office.

The only problem was there seemed to be about three gargoyles per corridor.

_Probably so it's harder to find_, Harry concluded. He groaned at the inevitable long stretch of time this was going to take. Harry moved forward to start with the first one. Before he could take one step, however, a voice shouted though the silence, "Who's there!?"

Harry held back his gasp. His loud groan had obviously caught someone's attention. And it just so happened to be the last teacher Harry wanted to find him sneaking around at night.

Snape.

He was probably twenty feet away from Harry. His black eyes swept the corridor, looking for anything unusual.

As Snape moved forward, Harry pressed himself as close as possible to the wall, so that Snape wouldn't run into him.

Snape walked slowly down the corridor. "I know you're here, whoever you are," the professor said. "If you were a ghost or teacher, you would have presented yourself by now, so that means, you are someone who doesn't belong." Snape smiled a cruel smile. "And that's just perfect for me."

"_Homenum Revelio_," said Snape, holding up his wand. Its tip glowed red and Snape's smile grew wider.

"So, are you wearing something you shouldn't be, child?" said Snape, moving slowly towards Harry. "That can be simply rectified." Harry didn't know how, but Snape knew where he was. He guessed it had to do with that spell Snape cast. "Do you know of the Summoning Charm, child?" asked Snape to his powerless victim. He was purposely moving as slow as possible, so savor this moment. "It has the power to take anything I summon, whether it's mine or anyone else's, and give it to me. So, if you are wearing an Invisibility Cloak, like your dratted father wore, Potter," Harry had to bite his lips in order to keep from gasping, "it will be mine. As, of course, will you." Snape was now standing in front of Harry, about ten feet away.

Snape once again raised his wand and, with a victorious grin on his face, said "_accio cloak_."

Harry gripped his cloak as hard as possible, but it wasn't necessary. Nothing happened. The cloak didn't even flutter.

Snape looked seriously confused. "_Accio invisibility cloak_!" he tried again.

Still nothing.

Enraged, he tried one more time. "_Accio Harry Potter's invisibility cloak_."

It was like Harry wasn't even there. But now both men were extremely confused.

Having enough of this, Snape moved forward, hand outstretched, was about a foot away from touching the cloak and –

"Looky, looky. I've got a Snapey!" Peeves the poltergeist shot out of the wall directly above Harry.

"Peeves!" shouted Snape. "What are you doing here!?"

"I was just leaving sweet old Professor Burbage a nice surprise on her chair, oh severe Severus," cackled Peeves. "And I was in there hearing you shout so mean like at dear, little Harry Potty. Such mean things you were saying to."

Snape looked shocked.

"You mean," he gulped, "you were behind the wall the whole time?" Realization was dawning on his face. He kept looking from his wand, to Peeves, to the spot where Harry was.

"Yep! I was, Snape. Snape. Severus Snape. Snape. Snape. Severus Snape." Peeves began singing a made up tune, bobbing his head from side to side.

In the confusion, Harry slowly and quietly slid to the floor, trying to get as much space between him and the angry Potions professor as possible.

Just in time, too, because Snape shot his hand out to where Harry's head was seconds earlier.

Finding nothing but wall, Snape must have realized what a mistake he had made.

"…Severus Snape."

"Shut up!" shouted Snape.

"Severus?" a quiet yet firm voice said from the end of the hall. All three beings there turned too see Albus Dumbledore appear from his doorway, next to a stone gargoyle.

_Well,_ Harry thought amused, not being able to help himself. _That solves that._

"Dumbledore!" sang Peeves, throwing his arms up in mock surprise. He seemed absolutely delighted at the surprise newcomer. "Snape. Snape. Severus Snape. Dumbledore!"

"Headmaster!" said Snape. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I just thought I found Harry Potter out of bed. But it turned out to be only Peeves."

"Snape. Harry. Snape. Harry. Snape. Harry. Snape. Harry." Peeves was now using his hands as some kind of puppets moving back in forth as if arguing with each other

"That's enough Peeves," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Dumbledore!" Peeves shouted again, arms in the air. He gave the two teachers raspberries before flying off, still singing his song

"Do you still think that Harry is here, Severus," asked Dumbledore, giving him a piercing stare.

"No, headmaster, I don't" said Snape, as if every word was causing him pain.

"Then you should go off to bed. It's getting rather late," said Dumbledore with a warm smile.

Snape nodded, bade Dumbledore a goodnight, and walked out of sight.

And Harry, despite his anger at Dumbledore, couldn't help but be grateful for the headmaster for his unintentional help. But his relief turned to panic again as Dumbledore, tearing his gaze away from the staircase Snape just climbed, turned to Harry and said, "You can take that remarkable cloak off now, Harry. He's gone."

Harry knew that being caught by the headmaster was much worse than being caught by a teacher, no matter how angry they may be, but Harry couldn't help but feel that he wouldn't be in trouble now. He didn't know what made him feel that way. Maybe it was the twinkle of amusement in Dumbledore's eyes behind his half-moon glasses or his wide, sincere and friendly smile.

Harry didn't know what it was, but he did take off the cloak.

"Thank you, sir," said Harry. "How did you know I was here? Snape thought I was Peeves."

"I know how useful Peeves can be," said Dumbledore. "He may be rather overbearing, but he may once in a while be of benefit. Was he not now?"

"Yes, sir he was," said a smiling Harry.

"And, if I can have your trust you won't tell anyone this," said Dumbledore, "he can come up with some catchy and amusing tunes." He began humming the song Peeves had just made up, tapping his foot as it went along.

Harry started to laugh, and put his hands in his pockets to tap his foot along with the headmaster, but when his hands brushed the letter and Pettigrew card, the reason all of this took place, why he was down here so late, and why he wanted to see Dumbledore in the first place all came rushing back to him along with his anger.

"Sir," said Harry, with a little more force than any student, much less a first year that has only been at the school for a week, should have when addressing the headmaster.

"Yes, Harry," said Dumbledore. The twinkle was still in his eyes and the smile was on his face, but he seemed to have noticed the tone of his student's voice.

"I was actually on my way to see you, when Snape caught me," said Harry.

"I see," said Dumbledore. He gestured Harry toward the gargoyle that had slid in front of Dumbledore's door. "Why don't we continue this in my office, Harry?"

Harry followed Dumbledore to the gargoyle, to which Dumbledore said "sugar quill." The gargoyle jumped to the side revealing a wall which then split in two. Harry followed Dumbledore onto a spiral staircase which began to rise like an escalator. When they reached the end, Harry saw a gleaming oak door, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

Dumbledore opened the door and gestured Harry inside. Harry entered.

Dumbledore's office was a large and beautiful circular room. Numerous silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. Covering the walls were portraits of old witches and wizards, all of them sleeping soundly. There was an enormous, claw-footed desk in the middle of the room and sitting on a shelf behind the desk was the Sorting Hat.

"Do you wish for a seat, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, indicating a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.

Harry took it. He noticed, as Dumbledore fiddled around with something, that next to Dumbledore's desk was a perch, and on that perch was a bird.

It was a beautiful red and gold bird, with plumes of feathers all over it and long gold tail feathers. The bird was staring at Harry unblinkingly.

"I see you have met Fawkes," said Dumbledore as he sat down at his desk.

"Fawkes?"

"Fawkes is my phoenix, Harry," said Dumbledore. He very gently pet Fawkes head. "Phoenix's are very loyal, Harry. Fiercely loyal. They have tremendous strength, their tears have healing powers, and produce heavenly music that can reach into the souls of the darkest men."

"But," added Dumbledore, looking straight at Harry, "I don't think you sought me out at this late hour and incurred the wrath of my potions professor just to discuss my pets, did you Harry?"

When Harry shook his head, Dumbledore said, "Then, my boy, why don't you share with me what is on your mind."

Harry wanted to jump into some kind of furious tirade, demanding Dumbledore answer all of his questions here and now, but he didn't think that was the best approach.

So instead, while still managing to sound serious, Harry said, "Sir, I have a few very important questions I need to ask. They have been bugging me for sometime and I think, no, I know that you are the only one who can answer me."

"Ask away," said Dumbledore calmly, although his stare, while still full of that curious twinkle, was focused hard on Harry.

"Well," Harry began. He had intended to ask one question at a time, but before he could stop himself, he was asking every thing that had been bugging him for a while. "I think I deserve an answer as to why I had to live with the Dursley's all my life. I know that they're my family and everything, but it's clear they can't stand me. And you can't say that you didn't know about there hatred and mistreatment of me, because it said on my Hogwarts envelope and in the letter that _you_ wrote that you knew I was living in a cupboard. A _cupboard_! How could you let them treat me like that? And why didn't you tell me the truth about Vol – I mean, You-Know-Who and my parents? You could have told me in the letter and let me know why people would gawk at me all over Diagon Alley. And you knew that was going to happen, because you sent me that scar-covering tape. And why did my scar burn in Professor Quirrell's classroom? It never happened before, but one week in Hogwarts and it's all of a sudden felt like some one was sticking fire onto it. Who were Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black and did they really know my dad, and if they did, why did Sirius become a traitor? I really have to know this. I have the right to know, Professor."

During this long string of questions, Dumbledore's reaction did not change nor did he try to interrupt him. He just sat there with his elbows resting on his chair, hands together, his blue eyes peering at Harry from over his long fingers.

There was no answer for a few seconds. Then, Dumbledore said, "Before I answer your many natural questions Harry, and yes I certainly have every intention to answer them." he added when he saw Harry's shocked face. Harry clearly didn't expect Dumbledore to take that kind of questioning from a student this calmly. "Let me begin by first instructing you, for this is a school after all." The corner of Dumbledore's mouth raised a little, hoping Harry might follow suit, but he soon realized that wasn't going to happen and moved on.

"In the middle of your questioning, you referred to the murderer of your parents as 'You-Know-Who'. I realize that you were initially going to call him by the name he chose for himself, but you changed it in mid word, in order to spare my feelings. And while I admire your thoughts greatly, let me say that for future reference, don't be afraid to call him by what he truly is: Voldemort. Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself."

"Wait," said Harry. "You just said there, to call Voldemort 'by the name he chose for himself'. Was 'Voldemort' not his real name?"

Dumbledore smiled again. "Caught that, did you? Good for you? No, Voldemort is not the name he had gone by all his life. For the first 15 or 16 years of his life he went by the name he was christened with at birth, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Now, since we have gotten that aspect out of the way, I think you have just asked some very intriguing questions to which you want the answers to. Am I right?" said Dumbledore.

"Yes," said Harry, fighting to keep his eyes from rolling. He wasn't in the mood for Dumbledore's antics. "You're right sir."

"Well, I say the fairest way to go would be to start from the beginning."

Harry leaned forward in his chair with keen interest.

"You asked me why I left you with your aunt and uncle. Why not give you to another wizarding family? They would have been honored to have you and to raise you as a son. You see, it was because of your mother, Harry."

"My mother?" repeated Harry.

"Your mother, Harry. On the night your parents were murdered, Voldemort arrived at your house, he killed your father and then moved on to you and your mother. And then he did something he had never done before, Harry."

"What did he do?" asked Harry.

"He offered her life," said Dumbledore. "He told her that he would let her live if she allowed him to kill you."

"He wanted to kill me?" a bewildered Harry asked.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. But before Harry could ask why, Dumbledore had continued. "When Lily refused to step aside, Voldemort killed her. She sacrificed herself for you Harry. And in doing so, made sure that no curse or spell from Voldemort or his followers would ever be able to do you harm."

"So when Voldemort tried to kill me," said Harry, "the curse rebounded off of me and struck him."

"Yes. That is what happened," said Dumbledore.

"But what does that have to do with the Dursley's," asked Harry.

"I am getting to that Harry," smiled Dumbledore. "I am getting to that."

"Now, as I said before, why not give you to another wizarding family? They would have protected you and raised you just fine. But, you see Harry, I was concerned for your safety. I was probably the only wizards at the time who knew that you were in more danger than anyone in the country. I knew when I placed you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep, that even though Voldemort had fallen hours before hand, that his followers, some of whom were as powerful and ruthless as he was, were still at large. And I knew Voldemort. I knew he wasn't gone for good and that one day he would be back. When that day will come, only time will tell."

"He isn't dead?" asked Harry. "But how?"

"That I do not know Harry," said Dumbledore.

"That how do you know he's still alive," asked Harry.

"Because when I went to your house after your parents had been murdered and you had been taken to safety, Voldemort's body was not there. No other dark wizard had been there to claim it so it wasn't stolen. It just wasn't there. No, my guess is that when his curse rebounded off of you, Harry, his body was destroyed and he was just reduced to his soul."

"Like a ghost?" asked Harry.

"No, not like a ghost. A ghost is an imprint of an individual who wished not to die when there time came. He or she has everything one needs to survive, other than a body. A soul, all by itself with no body, cannot do anything other than exist and move."

Harry's mind was moving a mile a minute, trying to absorb everything he was being told. "But sir, the Dursley's."

"Yes, we keep getting sidetracked off that, don't we," chuckled Dumbledore. "Well, as I have just told you Harry, I knew that one day Voldemort would return. I don't know when it will happen. Maybe in ten years. Maybe in twenty or fifty years. All I knew was that I needed to protect you for when that happened."

"And so, I sent you to live in the one place where you would be absolutely safe from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Death Eaters is the name of his followers, Harry," Dumbledore added.

Harry ignored that last part. "You wanted to protect me, so you sent me to a bunch of muggles who hate me?" Harry couldn't believe that.

"When Voldemort killed your mother, he created a bond between you and her that he is unable to break," said Dumbledore. "This bond not only extends to your mother, but to anybody who shares her blood."

"You mean Aunt Petunia?" asked a shocked Harry.

"Yes. I mean your mother's sister," said Dumbledore. "When she took you in –"

"She doesn't care about me," cut Harry. "She doesn't give a damn about me."

"She may have taken you grudgingly, unwillingly, and with great regret, but she took you none-the-less," said Dumbledore. "And when she accepted you into her family, she sealed the bond that your mother created. As long as you can call home the place in which your mother's blood dwells neither Voldemort nor his supporters can touch you there."

"Okay," said Harry, one of his questions answered. "But that still doesn't explain why you let them treat me the way they did. How you knew I was being used as a slave and not do anything. You obviously have a lot of power. Why didn't you tell them to treat me better or something? Why didn't you help me?"

Dumbledore now actually looked ashamed. "I am truly sorry Harry. By putting you where I did, I knew that you would be abused and mistreated. I knew that you would suffer ten years of torment and no reason of mine will ever make up for it."

"Well try," said Harry hotly, not really caring if he was being rude at the moment.

Dumbledore looked at Harry gravely. "Yes, I knew that your family was not treating you the way I had hoped. I knew that your mother and her sister had had a falling out a few years before you were born. But I thought that after learning of her sister's death and of your dependence on her, your aunt would overlook whatever meaningless argument the two sisters had. I was mistaken."

"It is true, I could have done something to appease the situation," confessed Dumbledore. "I could have met with your aunt and uncle, told them or threatened them into treating you fairly, but I didn't think that a wizard threatening them would make them more likely to accept you. But mostly, I also wanted you completely cut off from the wizarding world until the time was right. Until you received your letter and came to Hogwarts."

"But why? Why did you not want me to know who I am and the truth about Voldemort and my parents," asked Harry. "I would have accepted it. I would have loved it."

"I'm sure you would have," said Dumbledore. "But I was trying to protect you."

"From what? Voldemort?" asked a confused Harry, wondering how Voldemort could possibly be involved with this.

"No, Harry. Not Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "I was trying to save you from yourself."

That was the last thing Harry had expected Dumbledore to say.

"You were trying to save me, from me," repeated a flabbergasted Harry. "What does that even mean?"

Dumbledore sighed. He stood up from his desk and walked over to his window overlooking what Harry knew to be the Quidditch Pitch. He looked out at the night's sky before saying, in a much more serious voice than he had been previously using, without looking at Harry, "I am going to tell you a story Harry. This will be a rather frightening story, much more so than any story that should be told to an eleven year old. It is a very important story and will, I hope, satisfactorily answer your reasonable questions. I ask only that you do not interrupt me until I am finished. After which, if you have any more questions, I will be more than delighted to answer them. Do you agree to this Harry?" Dumbledore turned his gaze away from the sky and looked at Harry.

Harry quietly gulped and nodded, noticing that every painting on the wall that had been fast asleep five minutes ago was now wide awake, paying rapt attention to the conversation.

"This story goes back a long time Harry," began Dumbledore, his attention now back out the window. "Long before either of us, or any of the people we hold dear, were even thought of.

"It begins here, at Hogwarts. Or, to be more precise, before Hogwarts. Four of the greatest witches and wizards the world has ever known gathered together with the goal of teaching children how to do magic. This was a time of much muggle persecution, so the four decided to build the school somewhere safe and away.

"The four were vastly different as it was possible. There was the beautiful and smartest of the four, Rowena Ravenclaw. The most noble and friendliest was Helga Hufflepuff. Godric Gryffindor was the bravest and strongest, while Salazar Slytherin was the most cunning and ambitious. But while their differences separated them, the also united them, for they were able to learn about their own flaws and failures from the successes and different personalities from the other three. These four saw that the world needed a place to allow there young to learn and grow away from there protective parents.

"So they started Hogwarts and trained their own selected students. These chosen students would soon become the first to separate into the houses that divides Hogwarts today.

"For the first decade or so, everything was fine. But then Slytherin, always the most aggressive and picky of the four started to become more selective of the students that came to Hogwarts. He wanted only those of wizarding families to be taught and let the muggleborns fend for themselves.

"But the other founders did not agree with Slytherin's views. After a massive fight between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Slytherin left the school.

"And so it began. Every Slytherin house from that point forward has been full of students who fully believe the "Pureblood is superior" idea. And since Gryffindor's, Ravenclaw's, and Hufflepuff's on whole do not agree with this theory, there has always been a major rift between the four houses.

"While that it is true that over the centuries numbers of Dark wizards have tried to get their claim of power, they all were rather weak and easily defeated.

"Then, in the summer of 1938, I was assigned to fetch a boy who had been raised in a muggle orphanage. I was only transfiguration teacher at that point and that was one of my duties. The boy was a half-blood, though neither of us knew it at the time.

"My meeting with the boy was… disquieting. He seemed to have some idea of his power already, for he had used it to make things happen at that point. And while most underage children use accidental magic and have no control over what they do with it, Tom was quite different. He had used his magic to hurt his fellow orphans, to steal from them, and to kill animals. Already, at the age of 11, the child proved powerful and dangerous.

"But when he came to Hogwarts he was the perfect student. He was handsome, charming, got on well with the teachers. He even made prefect and Head Boy. But not everything was as my fellow teachers thought they were.

In Tom Riddles fifth year, a girl was killed at Hogwarts. We caught the person who was accused for the death, but everyone could see that it was an accident. The boy was expelled, but nothing more. And while everyone else was convinced, I knew better. I knew, or at least I made a highly educated guess, that Tom was the one actually behind the girls death, and that it was murder, not an accident. But I had no evidence. I could do nothing.

"Many decades passed by, in which Tom Riddle had left Hogwarts and gone deep underground. He learned from and consorted with the very worst of our kind, but when he finally emerged, he was the worst of them.

"Lord Voldemort, he called himself. And with his new power and devoted Death Eaters at his side, he declared open war against the Ministry of Magic, muggleborns and muggles. And while he did despise muggleborns and muggles, getting rid of them was only part of hi mission. He wanted power, pure and simple. He was obsessed with becoming as powerful as possible.

"And so, it was war. While your parents and their friends enjoyed themselves at Hogwarts, Voldemort was on the move. Every year he grew more powerful, wiping out everyone in his way as he went.

"I, as well as the Ministry of course, was working tirelessly against Voldemort. I had set up my own organization dedicated to defeating Voldemort, but it was no use. Voldemort was far too powerful.

"People pleaded with me to stop him. They thought I was their only hope, for I had defeated another powerful dark wizard before and I was the only one whose power could rival Voldemort's. But I knew that even my most powerful charms and enchantments were no match against his. We met in duels, was, but they always ended in draws or with him fleeing. I could not stop him.

Dumbledore was now pacing back-and-forth behind his desk. "So, for ten years, Voldemort cut his way across the country, gathering supporters and killing innocents. He exterminated hundreds of muggles and destroyed dozens of wizarding families that had been around for centuries. Things had never looked bleaker.

"By the time that the 1980's had arrived, the wizarding world had nothing to look forward to but ten more years of a never ending war. For nothing had stopped Voldemort before, what could stop him now?

"And then, he was gone. It was over. The war that had cost thousands of lives, muggles and magic alike, the war that had torn our world apart with fear and suspicion was over and nobody knew why.

"But when word got out that their savior was a one-year old now orphaned boy, the craze had never been greater. People were in the streets praising you, Harry. You had brought hope back to a world that had long since given hope up for lost.

"So when I say that I was saving you from yourself, Harry, I truly mean it. If you were left with a family of wizards who treated you as a hero and not as a son, or I came to you and brought you t this world when you were four or five, I had great fear that it would turn your head. I was worried that you would turn into an arrogant, self-absorbed child. And you may scoff and say that that never would have happened, but a five year old child's mind is shaped much easily than a ten year olds.

"There you have it, Harry," said Dumbledore, who had finally sat down behind his desk again. "Those are my reasons, and the thoughts that made up said reasons. I hope you find them satisfactory."

Harry couldn't say anything. He was to dumbstruck.

When he had left Gryffindor tower, with every intention to shout and get in Dumbledore's face, Harry had no idea that he would be left this speechless.

How come he never thought of it this way? When he had learned about his past, he expected some kind of reaction from the other students, but now that he thought about it, they were only kids. At the time Voldemort had fallen they were only 7 or 8. They had no serious grasp or concept as to what Voldemort's defeat meant. But there parents did.

Harry's mind shot all the way back to Diagon Alley. He had his scar covered so nobody knew who he was, but every time some one saw him, like Tom the bartender or Madam Malkin, Harry could now clearly see the build up of tears in there eyes.

And while that might all seem extreme and not necessary now, if Harry had been five and gotten that reaction just for walking into a building, would it have turned his head?

Dumbledore seemed to have sensed Harry's confusion, for he then said, "I know that I have given you a lot of information, Harry, at right now you are probably wondering what to do with it. So, I shall make a suggestion." Dumbledore took out what looked like a pocket watch and looked at it. "It is getting rather late. And we both need our sleep. So, why don't we put a metaphorical bookmark in our discussion and we shall continue this tomorrow, picking up right where we left off. Does that sound reasonable?"

Before Harry could answer, he let out a large yawn.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. Dumbledore just beamed at him.

"Tiredness is nothing to be ashamed of, Harry," said Dumbledore. "But I believe that you have just given me your answer."

"I guess I did," said Harry. He got up and headed for the door. "So I can come back tomorrow?" asked Harry as he grabbed the door handle.

"So you can come back tomorrow," said Dumbledore. "And you might want to slip that cloak on. Good night, Harry."

"I will. Good night sir," said Harry. He left the office.

* * *

Well, that was much longer than I imagined it would be. I finally decided to split it into a two night discussion in order to cut it down.

Notice that even though Dumbledore is being honest with Harry that he still is keeping quite about some things. He didn't tell Harry about the piece of soul that attached itself to Harry, even though he described everything else that happened. He's a sly, that Dumbledore.

And let me just say, for those who think I plan a lot of this out, which for the most part I do, but the entire first section with Snape I made up as I went along.

I was sitting there typing when I thought, "Hey maybe Snape should catch him." Then I thought "Why not have him try and summon the cloak, but he can't cause it's a freakin' deathly hallow." Then, just for kicks and to give this chapter some humor, I threw in Peeves doing the Potter Puppet Pals. Cause that's the sort of song Peeves would come up with on his own, don't you think?

Anyway, that's all for now.

Later.


End file.
